Halkegenia Online v3
by zero0hero
Summary: Third Volume of Halkegenia Online, Takes place following conclusion of 2.0. Preparations for war have begun in earnest, as Tristain and her Allies make ready in body and spirit and Albion threatens in the skies. On the White Isle, the Dragon Knights prepare, a Thief arrives, and a Born Huntress stalks her prey. Meanwhile, a fallen girl delves in the mysteries of the Void.
1. Prologue Pt 1: Letter

Halkegenia Online – v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 1

_On the western cliffs of the Northern most tip of Albion, overlooking the mists and the endless sea which stretched all the way to the mysterious horizon from which no man had ever returned, there existed a village clinging to the end of the world. The land was rough here, and the seasons were harsh and unkind, summers with little rain, and bitter winters. The people had grown hardy and stoic to endure as they did._

_So distant and insignificant, nary a post ship ever docked there, and only the occasional barge came along its river ways to deliver goods to market. Even in times of war it had remained peaceful, and in times of peace it had often known a small measure of prosperity, its farmers living as they always had raising goats and sheep, oblivious to the violence elsewhere. For the common people of this land, and its petty mages, news of war, of mass violence, death and killing, it probably seemed like a dream._

_No wonder Captain Trayvor had spoken so fondly of his home._

_Lieutenant Terrance Dunwell pondered this as he was helped down from the deck of the docked barge by a pair of strong and sturdily built men. For him, war was reality, as it had been since he'd joined the Dragon Knights, and any corner of the world that seemed untouched was merely an illusion. _

_Moving with a pronounced and pained limp, Dunwell patted at his leg. The healers had treated him as best they could, but it would take time if it was to mend properly. Founder knew that he could have ended up worse off. If it had been any drake but Scirroco, he'd likelier have died. The healers said it would still be a good week before he was judged fit to fly once more, and when he did, it would be with one of the sullen fire dragons rather than his familiar._

_'That . . . woman . . .' It seemed to be the only way he could describe her without earning her scorn._

_Dunwell shook his head as he recalled. Insufferable, harsh, lazy, and intensely cynical when she wasn't simply getting drunk on his salary. His life had known nothing but complications since he'd summoned the Rhyme Dragon and bound her as his familiar. And now she decided to wonder off for a month's time on her own business, casually informing him that they would meet again in Londinium before vanishing from the infirmary._

_Regrettably, he had no doubt that she'd return. For whatever reason, she'd stuck around this long._

_And yet . . . He was truly relieved that she had left him for now. Grateful to not have those ancient eyes appraising his every action. This was something he needed to do on his own._

_Like so many small villages, this one was no different, peasant cottages pressed up against the hillsides to shelter from the elements, a cluster of larger houses situated around the church, and the normal collection of farmers' wives and children at work and play. He found the village priest easily enough and asked for directions to the Trayvor home._

_As it happened, the house was quite a ways from the center of town, situated very near the edge of the cliffs beside an isolated ash oak that had grown stubbornly in this place since before the town for as long as any could remember._

_"I can show you the way." The priest offered, eyeing Dunwell as he turned around with a limp._

_"Just point it out to me." He'd answered._

_The Priest had nodded reluctantly and led him to the start of the sheep path that wound away from the edge of the village and out of view as it followed the cliffs. Dunwell had been told that so long as he followed it, he would find his way._

_The isolation of the path was good for him. The isolation of this journey was good for him. Time to remember, to think, and to satisfy himself that he'd done everything he could. He'd wondered about it into the nights, a brain fever that wouldn't relent. It wasn't his fault, he understood that, it wasn't anyone's fault, but he'd still failed._

_'It would have worked.' He thought as he rubbed at his leg, the salves were starting to wear off, and with them, the burning and itching was returning to his consciousness. 'The matter is control, one Air isn't enough, and without Earth the particulates can't be replenished as they abrade.' There was no way around it, nearly killing himself with that mess of a spell, he'd been and idiot to think he could make it work._

_'Back to the start again.' He thought, It'd probably be better if he just burned his old notes and started off from the beginning. But he loathed discarding the ratty old leather notebook tucked into his pocket._

_It felt like it took a very long time to reach where he was going, but when he looked up, the sun had hardly moved, maybe less than an hour's walk. It would have been half that if he'd been able to keep a brisk pace or simply hired a horse. He stopped long enough beneath the shade of a tree to reapply the salves the healers had left him with to treat the abrasions that were still bloody and raw, more painful than debilitating. Still, a risk of infection persisted, or worse of necrosis if he did not follow their instructions._

_The house sat where the Priest had promised, a hundred paces from the end of the world, and accompanied by a gnarled old Ash Oak that simply seemed to have decided it would not die before the world ended around it. _

_The house itself was the Captain's handiwork, two floors, with a well-kept tile roof and white washed wood walls. Proper glass in the windows, and little reflector beside the door that could house either a mage-conjured light or an oil lamp. The rose bushes in the garden were lovely, and looked to have been tended to by expert hands, that must have been the doing of Analice Trayvor, the Captain's wife . . . _

_The thought almost made him stop. At any time up until now he could have turned back. He could have said that his injuries had flared up and that he could not fulfill this responsibility. He could have apologized and asked it of someone else._

_Facing the point where escape ceased to be an option, however, he was met by the cold reality of a responsibility he'd taken upon himself, to see this through to the end._

_He took the brass door knocker and struck heavily three times. No reply until Dunwell caught the turning noises of a heavy mechanical lock, a wizened little face peeked out._

_"Pardon?" A woman in the clothes of a maid servant asked._

_"Ma'am." Dunwell stood straighter, shoulders squared, raven hair combed back. "Lieutenant Terrance Dunwell to see the Lady of the House."_

_"Miss Analice you mean?" The graying woman took an offered note stating his identity and sealed by the Crown. More importantly, she stopped to read it. Literate, he noted. The Trayvor family was as discerning in servants as it was subordinates. "Just a moment Sir."_

_Disappearing back into the house, Dunwell composed himself, closed his eyes and took a breath. There was only one way this was ever going to end, he'd known that when he'd Left Newcastle to come here. He'd known it from the moment he'd taken it upon himself._

_And he'd wanted to reject it the moment Analice Trayvor came to the door. Long blonde hair combed straight, bright blue eyes much like her husband's. She'd was dressed all in white, still young enough for simplicity to be charming and beautiful, and clutched at a tiny book, a bible that she'd been reading from before being summoned to the door._

_"Monsieur?" She spoke with the faint accent of a Northerner, close to the ports that did the most business with Germania. Marrying into the Trayvor family, he was sure she was fluent in at least Romalian and Gallian. "Pardon, I was told you'd just arrived. Monsieur Dunwell, was it?"_

_Dunwell opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was taken from him. Instead, he nodded slowly._

_Analice Trayvor drew back a strand of her hair, smiling innocently. "I'm very Sorry Monsieur, but if you're looking for my Husband, I'm sure it must be some military matter, he was recalled to New Castle a fortnight ago. He is not here. Monsieur?"_

_Dunwell realized that his lips were still parted. Young . . . A decade younger than her husband, barely wed. She didn't understand what he was doing here. Couldn't understand what his purpose was._

_"I am aware of the Captain's assignment to Newcastle." Dunwell answered quietly, folding his hands behind his back. "I am a Flight Lieutenant of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron. I served under your husbands command."_

_"Dunwell . . . Yes . . . I remember." She smiled fondly. "He's mentioned you in his letters. So you're the diligent young man? But . . . served?" Revelation was dawning slowly, an unease, a hint of an idea that hadn't quite bubbled to the surface. She didn't even know to deny it yet._

_What was he supposed to do? He was a printer's son, and his father had died early and left him alone, and he was a Dragoon not yet Knighted in service to his King, a boy recently made a man and a soldier, blooded less than a week ago._

_From his father and his childhood, he knew words and culture, he knew poems and plays. From Charles Trayvor, he knew spells, and swordcraft, and riding, how to fight and kill. But between the two, what experience was there that could guide him. What was he supposed to do?_

_"Flight Lieutenant of the Fourth Dragon Knight Squadron, Terrance Dunwell, delivering a message to Misses Analice Trayvor, wife of Sir Charles Trayvor." He began as if he was giving a report, cold, impersonal and wrong. What else was he supposed to say? He offered a letter to Analice, accepted into dainty hands, but left unopened. The wax bore the Royal Crest, not Captain Trayvor's own._

_She saw what it was, and she knew what it was, and she rejected what it was. Like a child that didn't want to accept that the Faerie Tale wasn't real._

_"On the Third of Tiir in this year of our Blessed Founder six thousand three hundred and twenty two, Captain Sir Charles Trayvor, Acting Commander of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron, did give his life virtuously in battle in service to the Good King James of the house of Tudor, and to the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Albion." Dunwell closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "God save the King."_

_What was he supposed to do?_

_When the silence went on for too long, he opened his eyes. Analice Trayvor hadn't moved, hadn't breathed, her light grip on the unopened letter failed, the little envelope fluttering to the ground. Only when it touched wood did time start again for the young widow._

_Dunwell stood resolute, face fixed forward, eyes straight. His duty was to be strong now as the woman before him broke and wept, sinking to her hands and knees. The maid returned, crying to her mistress who couldn't have cared less if she was there. Dunwell had only the loss of his own father to compare it to._

_Misery caused him to kneel, and misery also caused him to carefully retrieve the dropped bible and place a hand on Analice's trembling shoulders._

_Damaged body, damaged pride, lost comrades, and the suffering that it brought. How had there ever been a time when he'd looked on battle and seen glory?_

* * *

"You had that look in your eye Lad." Said in a rasped voice, like its owner had been gargling gravel. "Same look you had last time I saw you."

Sir Terrance Dunwell looked up abruptly from the glass of amber liquid held lightly in his right hand. He'd been nursing it most of the night, strong drink was a gift from the Founder after all. And all the better to numb the ache of old battle scars. Besides, meeting in a place like this, it would have been more suspicious to be empty handed.

The place being a tavern in the lower wards of Londinium. Dunwell had forgotten the name of the place, it didn't matter much, the sign outside had changed a dozen times over the years, as many times as the establishment had changed hands. But the alcohol had stayed the same, as had the good mood of the guests and tavern girls.

"What can I say." Dunwell took a sip from his brandy, giving a nod to the far side of the table to the hooded and the gray man who he had come to meet. "This place brings back old memories, Sir."

Of his youth, and of comrades he'd known then, and of a certainty he'd lost as the years had gone by until all that was left of Terrance Dunwell was a tired old man creeping past his fortieth year. Though not quite as old as to have turned his hair white as age had done to this man, or to excuse the white stubble that peppered his jaw from chin down to neck.

"It's been a long time since I've been called 'Sir'." The older man chuckled. "Least of all by you." Taking the offered seat with a whisper of thanks, and then another as Dunwell raised his hand, calling for another drink.

"And it's been about as long since you called me 'Lad'." Dunwell observed casually as he cast his gaze to the rest of the diners. Nobody here looked overly suspicious, but one could never tell. Too many of the King's old agents had seen the writing on the wall and changed sides while they still could, desperate to grab at the chance to prove their loyalty to Albion's new master.

The people were fast discovering that the new 'King', for all of his sympathy for the commoners, was a lot like the Old King, secret police and all.

"To growing old." Sir James Nare declared as he took his glass from a passing serving girl and raised it high. "Or at least, old enough to reminisce."

"To growing old." Dunwell agreed as he touched glasses with his former Captain. "Whoever would think we'd look forward to it?"

They both drank, Dunwell at last finishing his own while Nare made a healthy start on his. Both men sunk down in their seats as the alcohol loosened them up. Just a little. Enough to add some courage, but not nearly enough to make either of them sloppy.

"Aye, it's not so bad, Lad." Nare whispered as he held his glass up to examine the brandy by lamp light. "Growing old I mean. You get a perspective on the world, things don't bother you so much. You get a chance to see the great wheel turning." He put his glass down. "But you didn't ask me here to receive the wisdom of a long life."

"No." Dunwell agreed. "My concerns lay with the future rather than the past, and when last I heard, you wrote that you might be able to give me an answer to one of my questions."

Nare nodded, resting his hand on the rim of his glass. In a trick of the lantern light, the older man's smile faded into shadow and then disappeared altogether.

"This is good brandy. Gallian?"

"Where else?" Dunwell answered.

Blockade or not, Heretics or not, Faeries or not, Albion was still flaunting its maritime superiority. Romalia might have been patrolling the Southern borders while Tristain made noises to the East, but they would be hard pressed to close off all avenues of trade. In the end, Albion still had something that everyone wanted, and the Merchant's always found a way.

Merchants like a certain Sir James Nare, formerly of the Dragon Knights, long since retired and taken to a more peaceful life.

Nare had done well for himself, in spite of the turmoil, keeping his head down when the war had started, paying bribes to the right officials and selling to the right nobles. Dunwell didn't blame him, Nare had three young sons now, and a wife to look after, and he'd had the wisdom to see that he couldn't help what was coming, only take shelter and keep himself and his family safe.

But James Nare was still an honorable man, as honorable as anyone else in their fallen country, in any case. There were things he could learn that Dunwell could not, at least, not without rousing suspicion. The smallest bit of guilt niggled at the back of the Captain's brain as he acknowledged that he was taking advantage of his old flight leader, maybe even drawing danger to him and his family.

But if that happened he'd be bringing the same danger down on the heads of himself and all of his subordinates. He would not have involved the man if there was any other way.

"Now then." Dunwell set his elbows on the table. "Tell me what you know of the woman who calls herself Sheffield."

"Lord Cromwell's secretary, Aye?" Nare looked to his glass. "An interesting one I should think. Lots of Merchants doing business with her the last few months."

"Gallian." Dunwell said unhappily.

The supplies flowed from Gallia, from every manner of industry. Bulk goods and food, finished goods, luxuries and more sulfur and salt peter than all the Earth mages in Albion could have produced. The backers of Reconquista were indeed Gallian, and whoever they were, their wealth ran deep. Which meant their hair likely ran some shade of blue. Royals of one of the houses, taking advantage of the idiocy of the present King.

"Would you believe Tristanian?"

Dunwell was stopped mid thought. "Pardon?"

Nare nodded again as he swirled his glass. "I'm sure they were shipped from Gallia, but that wasn't their origin. The crates are marked from the Germanian markets, and stamped with the logo of a trading house that sits on the Tristanian border. Founder knows how many times they traded hands to get here."

"And you're sure?" Dunwell narrowed his eyes with cast suspicion.

Nare shrugged, face betraying nothing of what he was thinking. "Aye, I'm sure. As for how I know. The black markets have been interesting recently. Or haven't you heard?"

"Goods from the Faerie Lands." Dunwell sighed.

It was inevitable that they would start to trickle out given enough time. The Faeries were interesting, and interesting things fetched a premium. Whether by business, discovery, or theft, trinkets of ALfheim had started to trade hands.

Dunwell had seen them coming in, confiscated shipments for the black markets. Any goods made or altered by Faerie crafts had been banned for private possession on order of Lord Cromwell and were to be confiscated at once. The truth was, that it was merely a pretext. Now that the Rebel leaders were the legitimate authority and had acquired the mechanisms to profit directly from Albion's trade, they didn't appreciate others horning in on their business.

Dunwell had long lost the ability to appreciate the irony. But the confiscated goods were a fascinating, sometimes terrifying look into their new enemies.

The whimsical, almost impossible creations. Swords and armor that confounded Earth Mages as to their composition and precision of crafting, every sort of charm, to hasten movement, or to lighten burdens, or to cast defensive spells that restored themselves with time. Weapons imbued with magic of their own, and any number of clever little devices.

None was an exception in and of itself, most could have been replicated, one way or another, by powerful magic, but taken together, and in the quantity that he'd seen, it spoke of a tremendous concentration of magical potential and talent. All of this from just the small trickle of black market goods.

"I can tell you right now, she's the buyer for sure." Nare breathed slowly. "Only place in Londinium they can be going. And your Lady Sheffield is the only one who can flaunt Lord Cromwell's decree like that."

"I've heard she's had the Palace basements renovated." Dunwell muttered. Given her involvement in Reconquista so far, he could only imagine it was some sort of stockpiling effort. A sensible thing to do.

"And what about Sheffield herself?" Dunwell shook his head, this was interesting, but not what he was here to learn. "The name is Gallian correct?"

"Gallian Noble." Nare agreed. "Old Nobility too, so old the names practically been lost and rediscovered a dozen times."

"And is our Lady Sheffield of that line?" Dunwell asked the question he most wanted to know. Who was she? Where was she from? Who were her allies?

Nare blinked slowly, so slowly that Dunwell wondered if one glass had been enough to leave him drunk. 'Come on man! You can hold your liquor better than that!'

Nare started to snicker. "That's . . . where it gets interesting Lad." He slid his glass to the middle of the table.

"I'm listening." Dunwell lifted a finger to the passing waitress. "Only one more."

"Fair enough." Nare gave him a grateful little nod. "So . . . I had to ask a friend in the Hanza who has some dealings with Merchant's in Gallia. You'd call it a mutual extra-legal arrangement."

"I'd call it racketeering, but do go on." Dunwell said. Not like he had any right to hold his head above criminals these days.

"These fellows have had words with your Lady Sheffield before. Apparently her House arranged a large and ongoing deal to purchase iron ore from Germanian mines on behalf of a number of smaller interests throughout Gallia. They confirmed that she represents the house of Sheffield. But . . ."

Dunwell listened closely.

"When I said an ancient house, extinct is more like it, and extremely reclusive, going back almost half a century. The truth is that they've been dying out for a long time and most would barely recognize the name except from old records." Nare grimaced. "The Last Lady Sheffield died fifteen years ago, and her title was inherited by her daughter."

"The current Lady Sheffield." Dunwell nodded slowly.

"No again . . ." Nare accepted his second glass, swishing the brandy once as he waited for Dunwell to digest what had just been said. "In fact, that Lady Sheffield died six years ago."

"Then a granddaughter?" Dunwell corrected.

Nare tossed back his head as he took the glass in one go. Scirroco would have been impressed. "Doubtful." He blew out a heavy breath. "At the time she passed away, the previous Lady Sheffield was ten years old." Getting up from his chair. The old Dragon Knight stretched slowly. "Not that I care to find out Lad, but it seems to me you've an impostor on your hands."

* * *

The soft whirring noise of the grind wheel, the sudden -clank- and scream as metal met stone in a shower of sparks that spilled down from the point of contact and dusted themselves across the gloves and apron of the Leprechaun Smith. The smell of the oil and of burning metal. The lapping sound of water as the apprentice doused the blade edge. These filled the workshop of the master sword smith Kofu.

For her part, Kofu didn't seem to notice at all. The sparks could have landed on her skin, gotten inside her gloves or down her shirt and burned her, and she would hardly have flinched. Her entire being was concentrated on the blade in front of her.

Shinozaki Rika, Lisbeth, Faerie of the Leprechaun race, and now the apprentice to said sword smith, watched her master at work, holding her breath all the while.

'I should probably be taking notes.' Liz thought.

But she didn't think this was something she could learn by writing it down, not like furnace temperatures or cues in the colors of the metal. She had to watch and then do it for herself.

She saw Kofu cock her head, Liz hesitated, face invisible behind her mask and goggles. The smith made a small adjustment to her grip, altering the angle of the grind as she continued to lightly tap the blade across the stone's surface.

The apprentice smith sighed in relief, she'd thought her master was about to get pissed and throw the blade at the wall like she had with a couple of others in the past. But those incidents were becoming less and less frequent now that she was getting used to her skills as a real smith. Besides, they'd put way too much work into this one to have messed up now.

Kofu always got like this once she was in the shop. The bad attitude and the even worse work ethic just melted off of her, impurities boiling away in the furnace heat until all that was left was the distilled essence of a blacksmith. It was that dedication to the craft that had convinced Liz to stay on as her 'apprentice' long after she would have otherwise given up in frustration.

And her patience was slowly starting to pay off. Liz observed as the ringing metal sang to her sensitive ears, the noises picked apart and analyzed, answers bubbling to the surface. It had taken the better part of the last two and a half months to learn that trick. But once Kofu had told her about it, Liz hadn't been able to stop listening, trying to hear it as she passed the other shops and watched the other smiths at work.

Now, while she wasn't a master at it, she had started to understand what the metal was trying to tell them, its notes pure and clear.

'We got the alloying spot on this time.' Liz pumped her fist.

It was a little thing, not really that important on its own. The art of sword-crafting was not something that could be learned just by leveling up a number, it was a complex, difficult, and beautiful expression of craftsmanship, and Liz knew she was a long way from making a quality sword, much less a masterpiece blade like the Dual Deciders or the special order they were working on right now. But the little signs of progress had sent her heart racing and filled her with pride.

Months living with the sometimes neurotic, always finicky Leprechaun had begun to change her in other ways as well, Liz crossed her arms, biceps growing with the first real muscle she'd ever bothered to put on. She'd helped do inventory at her family's store IRL, but there was no such thing as 'light lifting' in a blacksmith's shop, whether she was cleaning or working the bellows, Liz worked her ass off doing hard physical labor, and her body grew stronger because of it.

"I just hope I don't end up with freakish biceps like hers." Liz muttered out loud.

"What was that about my biceps," A venomous little growl startled Liz from her thoughts, "Oh Apprentice of Mine?" The grinding wheel was spinning down quietly on its journal bearings. Kofu was slowly raising her mask, sharp gold eyes appraising Lisbeth.

'Crap!' Liz thought fast. Thankfully, she wasn't too pressed for an excuse as the bell hung beside the workshop door chimed to announce a customer.

"I'll go get that." Liz backed away slowly and then scrammed. Geez, she was going to be a pain in the ass for the rest of the day, all because she hadn't kept her mouth shut! 'This customer better be a big spender.' Liz hoped. Nothing improved the other girl's mood like seeing a lot of zeros on the invoice.

Not that she was usually that bad, Liz admitted to herself as she made her way down the narrow hall. Other than taking her work seriously, Kofu had practically become obsessive about sharing everything she now knew with Liz, she'd even started calling her by name, sometimes.

Lisbeth tried to tell herself it would be alright, she and Kofu got along after all. 'She's also Kofu.' Liz's shoulders slumped, yeah, better hope the customer was here to buy..

Right then, do or die time, time to put on a winning smile and go get'm! Her domestic harmony depended on it.

"Welcome to Kofu's Sword Shop." Liz declared for the benefit of anyone who had managed to miss the sign outside. The lack of reply was sort of anticlimactic.

When she got a good look at the customer, at first Liz thought she was dealing with another Leprechaun, no one else should have hair _that_ pink. The customer turned from examining one of the swords situated in the display case. Yep, definitely pink, and also female. It took Liz way too long to realize why she found that weird. Then she noticed, ears flat and round, human?

A local.

Liz paused to take her in. "Good day." The woman gathered her arms up in her cloak and gave a small dip of the head. "Would you happen to be the proprietor?" Definitely human. Liz decided.

"Ah . . . The shop owner is in back." Liz supplied as she hurried behind the counter. "I'm her . . . Apprentice." Liz frowned as the woman grew immediately distracted after hearing her answer, squinting as she examined the rapiers that held place of pride.

"Would you mind getting her please." The woman said. "I was recommended here by a previous customer." Then, she went right back to looking over the merchandise.

Right, keep your cool. "I'm sorry." Liz did her best to stay calm. She didn't appreciated being walked over on the way to her boss. Kofu had _hired_ her to deal with customers like this after all. "Could I get a name first?"

"I thought I'd already given it?" And then a small shake of the head. "My apologies, I am Karin Desiree de La Valliere." She answered. "I'm here about purchasing a replacement for this."

The customer placed a cloth wrapped parcel on the counter top. After receiving permission, Liz parted the cloth to reveal a thoroughly mangled sword-wand. The Leprechaun couldn't help but wince in sympathy for the unfortunate weapon.

"You really did a number on it." She said without thinking, too busy examining the fracture edges, failed in yielding rather than simple fatigue, Liz could tell by the subtle warping and signs of plastic deformation along one side, and then simply -snap-. The Noble woman grimaced, brown eyes glinting with something very close to anger. "I mean . . . Just a sec and I'll go get my boss." Liz appeased.

Yikes. Caught between Kofu and the customer, a bad place to be. And de La Valliere . . . Where had she heard that name before? One of the Local Noble houses. Pretty important too. Weren't they the ones financing the new furnaces? Definitely not a good start to her day!

Liz didn't hear much noise coming from the back room, the smith had finished with grinding and moved on to the final polishing of the blade, a process that would take most of the rest of the day to do right, or so Kofu insisted. Then came mounting the blade to its hilt and last minute finishing prior to delivery. Which meant Liz was going to be flying through the night to get the order to Tristania on time.

But it was definitely going to be worth it.

"The customer wants to see you." Liz poked her head back through the door. As expected, the sword smith was lost again in her work, whispering Faerie chants under her breath while she worked over the face of the blade with a fine cotton cloth.

"Can it wait?" Kofu looked up annoyed. "I really don't wanna."

"But you wanna make lots of money." Liz pressed her lips thin, appealing to her boss's greed. "She's a buyer." Kofu's ears perked. "And I think she's a high class noblewoman, so she probably once something fancy and_expensive_."

The smith fell silent again, leaving Liz to wonder if she was just going to be ignored. In that case, marching over to the chair, the smith's apprentice squatted down beside the stool and took hold.

"Hey, what'er you . . .?"

"Lift . . ." Liz grunted " . . . With the legs!"

"Gyah!"

That got her attention, Kofu tumbling from her seat and coming perilously close to fumbling the sword blade from the workbench.

The Smith gasped as shot back up straight. "Why you . . . That's a dirty trick to play on your master you ungrateful . . ."

"Customer." Liz repeated. More importantly. "_Paying_ customer."

Faerie eyes met in a battle of wills.

Torn between her discomfort over dealing with people and her need to do so, at last, the Leprechaun went on mumbling indecent things as she turned to the door, making a big show of how reluctant she was. Probably hoping that Liz would let her splurge on dinner tonight. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going."

The customer was still waiting when they got back, and by the looks of it, she'd heard the racket in the back room. "Just a little spill." Liz explained, all false sweetness as Kofu glared murderously over her shoulder. So much for diplomacy today. Oh well, she'd pick the way she burned.

"I hear you're in the market for a new sword." Kofu stroked her chin as she sidled up to examine the destroyed blade left without comment on the counter top.

"Yes." The Valliere woman said inflectionlessly. "This one has been with me for many years, but . . . first the focus and then the sword itself have given out on me. And both at the worst times." She shook her head, lips pursing unhappily. "It seems it is finally starting to show its age."

Liz's ears perked. She might not have had the customer employee relationship down to a science, but she knew a story behind words when she heard one.

"All things fade with time, I suppose." Kofu said carelessly, earning a swift and unnoticed kick from Liz. You didn't make light when the customer was unhappy.

"All I want to know is can you do it?" The Valliere woman fixed Kofu with a steady gaze. "The sword must be of the highest quality. I will accept nothing less. If not, I can go elsewhere."

Liz cringed, those were fighting words. Whether she knew it or not, Miss Valliere had just challenged the great Smith Kofu whose ego ran as deep as the sea.

The gold haired Leprechaun smiled forcefully. "Heh? Can I do it?" Reaching down to pick up the largest remaining piece of the ruined sword and going over it with an appraising eye. "I'm guessing you want one just like this?"

"As close as possible." Miss Valliere agreed. "And of the highest quality possible. A young man name Kirito told me that you were up to the task."

Liz perked up. Kirito?!

She knew he'd been in a few more scrapes since they'd talked last. He'd been in Goibniu just a week ago looking into, of all things, _armor. _Well, that made sense, a little bit of extra protection was probably looking a lot more appealing now that it was his precious flesh and blood body that was getting cut up. Just what had that jerk been getting up to recently?

The name didn't go unnoticed by Kofu either. "Super Spriggan recommended you?"

"If that is his title . . . " Miss Valliere said again. "He said to trust your workmanship."

"Take pride in what you do." Kofu said, turning the broken blade to examine its edge down its length, she pinged a nail against the metal and listened, Master and Apprentice frowning as one at the unappetizing noise of metal rife with impurities, and few of them any good.

"Sounds like . . ." Kofu began.

"Too much sulfur." Liz finished. It must have been introduced in the forging process. Well, that was the best that could be expected from locally made metals. The local mages sort of knew what they were doing when they made steel, but they didn't quite know how to extract the impurities they produced in the forging process, at least, not remotely efficiently.

Whether that was just a natural byproduct or something to do with their magic . . . Liz's thoughts trailed off as Kofu answered.

"I can do it." Kofu decided at last. "Just one thing . . ."

"The Foci." Miss Valliere practically read the smith's mind.

"Yeah. I can make an ALfheim Spell-sword." Kofu put the wreckage down. "But I don't know if that would work for your magic."

That didn't seem to bother Miss Valliere as much as Liz would have expected. In fact she already seemed to have given it some thought. "That would be fine." The Noblewoman gave a small wave of her hand. "If you can replicate the channel at the back of that blade, I can have it fitted with a focus later. It's common to have the foci crafted to fit the blade, so it won't be a problem."

Kofu nodded sagely. "Got it. Well then, there's just one other thing to prove . . ."

"Oh?" The Customer's eyes narrowed. Looked like she'd been expecting this.

"Yeah." Kofu folded the sword pieces back up into their fabric parcel. "I'm not just going to sell one of my children to anyone. Super Spriggan must have told you." The smug grin, it was the same one that had gotten Kofu punched all those weeks ago.

Liz turned back to the customer waiting for the reply.

The Noblewoman, eyes closed, brow furrowed, gave a small snort, and then a sigh. "You want me to prove my sword craft."

"A Leprechaun blade means something." Kofu explained matter of factly. "And a sword of the smith Kofu means even more. I can't just let anyone wave them around and give my weapons a bad reputation. You _look_ like you can handle a sword, but I have to see for myself." Without breaking eye contact with the customer, Kofu called over her shoulder. "Apprentice, go get the display case key, I wanna see if she has it in her."

Liz bit down on a curse. "What about finishing the order?" This was due at the parade grounds by tomorrow morning. It would be embarrassing if they couldn't get it there on time. Wasn't Kofu the one who had just been talking about her reputation?

"I'll get right back to it." The master smith worked her shoulders loose, surprisingly, the customer didn't look at all bothered as she removed her own cloak and gloves to make ready. "To save me some time, how about you do the engraving."

Liz stopped her grumbling and looked up. "What? Really?" She'd practiced some as part of her apprenticeship, so she could definitely do it, she just hadn't expected to be asked so soon.

Her boss gave her a mild look of surprise as if she didn't think Liz would find it so amazing. "Yeah. You _did_ work as much on it as me." Probably more keeping the furnace hot, the bellows going, and doing all the unskilled labor intensive work to support the forging process. "You put your soul into it too, so it's only fair, Liz."

"But . . . we haven't pick a name for it yet." It wasn't one of the pattern swords from ALO, this one was on of Kofu's unique creations. A spell-sword specially made for a specific wielder. One who's reputation was so big that even Kofu hadn't complained about making it without seeing her in action.

"You're right." Kofu growled, stroking her chin as if thinking hard. "It's no good for that child not to have a name. So I've been thinking." She suddenly smiled. "I've got it. How about . . . Yeah . . . How about we call it _Queen Mab?_"


	2. Prologue Pt 2: Tinkers

So yeah, just an advanced warning that it's going to be a while before we get back to Louise.

* * *

Halkegenia Online v3.0 - Prologue - Part 2

Mornings.

Hyuuga hated mornings.

Mornings were supposed to happen to _other_ people. And now, without even the benefit of caffeine, the former Nuclear Engineer turned Leprechaun Faerie was hurting alright as she made her way alongside the rows of identical wooden buildings, barely more than hastily constructed barns, that served as the housing and indoor 'laboratories' of the illustriously named Tristain Royal Institute of Science and Technology.

'Someone had really wanted _that_ self-referential backronym.' Hyuuga mused.

An impressive name for a not so impressive collection of shacks. The place didn't look like much now, a cluster of wood buildings and a few earthen berms thrown up to give Hyuuga and her staff of volunteers someplace reasonably safe and contained to test and showcase their more incendiary experiments.

But that was changing all the time, like right now in fact, a sensitive Leprechaun ear picked out the sounds that had roused her at sunrise. Hammers and handsaws from the far side of the compound, the native carpenters and mage craftsmen hard at work on the latest addition, a brick and mortar building that would, upon its completion, become the 'Metallurgy Lab'.

'Rucks must be happy with that.' She furrowed her brow. The stout Gnome alchemist and his team had come a long way in very little time, so it was natural they would be awarded the nice new structure as their playhouse. That didn't mean Hyuuga wasn't feeling the disappointment.

She'd wanted the first permanent building to go to her own team, but it couldn't be helped. Results demanded a reward, and as of yet, she and hers didn't have many of those. Oh, they'd knocked together some prototypes with the help of their innate crafting knowledge, working models and proofs of concept that had intrigued a few of their noble financiers, and of course, had gotten Lord Mortimer's undivided attention and Lord Rute's open salivation. Being citizens of the twenty first century, in general, the Fae Lords didn't need any convincing about the merits of 'new' technology.

But they were a long ways off from a useful product. There was a world of difference between a showcase piece like, a tabletop steam engine, and a fully functioning steam plant that was built to do useful work. They either needed to build big, to get power from low pressure, which meant lots and lots of mrtal, meaning the Gnomes needed to get their smelters running first, and result in a plant that would need a monstrous amount of space to operate. Or build high pressure, which was to say high stress, high tolerance, and high temperature, all the things they couldn't do just yet.

Hyuuga stuffed her hands back into her pockets, warding off another sigh.

They needed to build the tools to build the tools before they could even _think_ of undertaking something as ambitious as a steam engine as more than a novelty project. But, a fist balled inside the pocket of her coat, the fact that she could actually see the steps laid out was a sort of triumph.

The metallurgy. The tools. The machining methods.

Soon enough they would have it. And then, the Leprechaun almost drooled at the thought . . . All of that _power_ bound up by hot, oily metal, forced into physical action. The powerful strokes of rods and torquing of axles. Just thinking about it got her all tingly.

Alas, that was in the future. In the now, she had much more modest advancements, or rather, 'revancements' to use Hegent's term, to report. It wasn't anything to get excited about. But it'd pay the bills, and hopefully keep them funded for a while longer so that they could start to pursue medium and long term goals.

Milking the money cows. Now there was something that she knew a little bit about from her project leader days. And there were the owners of said cows come to market now, she thought at her first sighting of the delegation of Nobles gathering near the eastern berm, along with three of the Faerie Lords, military officers and men with commanding interests among the trade guilds of Tristain, the sort of men who they needed if they wanted to make money off of the technology and practices that TRIST intended to introduce.

More importantly, the guards. _Royal_ Guards, two still mounted comfortably atop Griffins, the rest standing dismounted with shouldered muskets. Which meant that a certain Princess, soon to be Queen, was also attending today.

"I do hope I haven't kept you waiting long!" They'd gotten here earlier than expected, Hyuuga cursed inwardly. She'd been scarfing down a late breakfast when an anxious Yuyu had hurried in to tell her they'd arrived. Luckily, everything was set up for the demonstration and they'd just been waiting on the observers.

Picking up the pace into a jog that left her white lab coat flapping behind her, the Leprechaun only slowed to give a small bow. "Good morning to you all. Let me extend my warmest thanks for making time in all of your busy schedules to be here today."

Hyuuga's eyes naturally fell upon the dreamy eyed looking Leprechaun standing nearby, along with her nervous minder. Hegent could have at least led them to the field instead of leaving them mulling around here, especially with _those_ two among the audience.

"Princess Henrietta, Prince Wales." Hyuuga bowed to both Royals, out of genuine gratitude as much as their value as sponsors. Both had shown the greatest interest and support for the work they were doing. Among a sea of skeptics, at least on the side of Tristain's nobility, it was nice to have a few voices cheering for them.

"Chief Hyuuga," The Princess smiled sweetly, "I'm glad to see you well. I hope your ambitions have come along since last we spoke."

"Only a little I'm afraid." Hyuuga smiled back wanly. "But I wouldn't worry too much, it hardly affects what we're going to show everyone today."

"Yes, Admiral La Ramee reported that it was most impressive when last we spoke." Prince Wales observed. "He was quite pleased with your work. A shame the Triumviri couldn't make it today."

"Pardon?" Hyuuga tugged at a lock of metallic brown hair.

"His little name for General Gramont, Lord Mortimer, and Admiral La Ramee." Henrietta poked her cousin in the shoulder. "He sometimes forgets that not everyone thinks to call them that."

"It is not just I." The Prince protested. "Nor am I the one who devised the title. But it does seem fitting, given how inseparable the three are."

"Like schoolboys I suppose." Henrietta agreed.

Hyuuga nodded her head politely, filing the little tidbit away for later use. "I see. Any reason why the _Triumviri_ are indisposed today?" Maybe it was something good. Sadly, she was disappointed by how mundane it turned out to be.

"Drafting a budget I believe." Henrietta supplied promptly. "They and their staff have been working on it since before the Gala. First it was to convince the House of Peers, but since the Gala attack . . ." Henrietta's voice trailed off

The Leprechaun couldn't help but wince. She'd only heard about it after it was wall over. The blessing and curse of being out of the way. Thankfully, it hadn't been too much of a distraction for her staff.

Henrietta recomposed herself. " . . . Well, since then, the House has become more aware of the dangers we face. But an estimate of costs still has to be submitted, along with a plan for levying troops and equipping the army for war." The Princess sighed. "It really is a miserable necessity."

"The true hazard of soldiering." Prince Wales lamented. "To battle with paper, and bleed ink!"

Not just a hazard to soldiers, Hyuuga rubbed at her own wrist, she was growing to despise quills more and more with each passing day. "Well then, I think you've all been left waiting for far too long." Even though they couldn't have been here more than two or three minutes!

"Cardinal Mazarin, Duke de La Valliere, good day. Ah, Count Woestte, I hope you've been well."

The shorter nobleman gave a derisive snort. For all of his sponsorship, he seemed to very deliberately remain unimpressed by anything that Hyuuga or her staff demonstrated or described. Most people probably just thought he was a huge jerk, even if they never said it to his face, but she thought she had him figured out.

It was a bargaining tactic, never showing how much interest he actually held, never giving his cards away. Hyuuga decided she'd just have to gauge him off of his fellow Nobles.

Next, the Lords, including her own pompous superior. "Lord Rute, an honor as always. And Lord Thinker." She bowed to the Leprechaun and exchanged bows with the Undine Lord. And lastly, "Lady Zia?"

"Lady Sakuya couldn't make it today I'm afraid." The pale and delicate Puca girl whispered melodically. "I offered to come in her place. Though, I'm sure Sakuya-san is more qualified by far . . ."

Hyuuga gave the girl a sympathetic smile. Much too modest. The Puca might have chosen her because she was cute, but it sounded like she had a real level head and a knack for dealing peacefully with the nobility. At least, that was how the papers, delivered every morning by the couriers making the Twin Capitals Run had been describing it.

"Captain Fevis, Captain Eltin, Captain Lydel . . ." Hyuuga carefully reeled off the titles of the other nobles in descending order of prestige, pleased that she managed to keep the names straight and attached to their faces.

"Now then, if you'd just follow this way." Hyuuga gestured for the benefit of their sponsors, towards the open fields where the first demonstration was to be made.

"I do hope this is as impressive as old Eren has been saying." Count Woestte grunted as he conjured up an air currant to cool himself in the beating morning sun, a servant holding an umbrella beside him. "I hate to have my time wasted, Chief Hyuuga."

Hyuuga smiled to herself. With each passing day, as she'd brought together her team and they had erected their lab spaces, transcribed the designs books from the Arrun Central Library, and begun putting that knowledge and their first world educations to good use, she had grown more confident. TRIST was on the verge of delivering an _explosion_ of breakthroughs to its host Kingdom.

It had amazed Hyuuga, no history buff, just how many clever inventions and ideas had been forgotten over the centuries, old technology displaced by new. Now, those ideas had a chance to shine again, if only for a little while as they built up the momentum to leapfrog forward to still greater advancements.

It became more a matter of when, than if, a variable controlled by the limited manpower and resources at their disposal.

"I'll confess, Count Woestte, I _am_ a little disappointed by the meager fruits of our labors. _But . . ._" Hyuuga let that hang in the air long enough to turn heads. " . . . I'm sure that you'll be please all the same." Very pleased. "And also delighted by the projects we have in the works in the meantime." There was no doubt in her mind of that.

Still, the short little man's grumbling was getting a little obnoxious until he was silenced by the Duke de La Valliere. "Now, now, my good fellow. I think we have nothing to fear if what Lord Rute had shown us is any indication."

Woestte fell silent for a moment, then nodded as he exhaled. "Marvelous quality." A shake of the head as he added in near disbelief. "And over a thousand half libra ingots from that one small furnace!"

"Bessemer converter." The Duke de La Valliere rumbled. "Quite ingenious to combine the properties of air, earth, _and_ fire in such a way to achieve their ends. The natural philosophers of the Fae homeland could teach us much I dare say."

"Well, it's not so simple in practice, Duke de La Valliere." Hyuuga mused aloud. "It took a long time to hit on the process originally, and even longer for us to figure out what was going on to make it work. Though, I think the results speak for themselves . . ." Now they just needed a way to mass enchant during the alloying and heat treatment processes and that steel could become a base for dark amalgam high carbon alloy, or so her Leprechaun smithing knowledge told her.

"I would rather like to see this machine in operation." Woestte declared. "If such can be arranged."

"I'm sure it can, Count Woestte." Lord Thinker said easily. "The industrial units are being constructed now in Goibniu's forging district, but I believe the prototype was installed here if I'm not mistaken."

"You aren't." Hyuuga replied, waving to a pair of her Gnome underlings as they trundled past, each hefting a crate full of supplies bound for the metallurgy lab like it was nothing. Not only had the converter been built here, it had been left in place at special request. The small unit, with a capacity of only two hundred and fifty kilos of refined steel wasn't nearly as big as the units being built in the Leprechaun city, but it was almost perfect for their prototyping needs. "In fact, we have a batch being processed as we speak. They should be ready to pour around the time we finish with the demos, if you'd like to watch."

"It would be a pleasure, Chief Hyuuga, we assure you." The Duke de La Valliere promised.

"A pleasure that will no doubt be all the greater when we start to see the first profits. The first furnace should be ready for production by the end of the month." Lord Rute added, his unabashed greed showing through in the glint of his eyes. Hyuuga could only think he was counting the Yurudo in his head.

"And the buyers are all lined up." Count Woestte agreed, rubbing his hands expectantly as he leaned close to Rute.

Hyuuga shuddered, they were disturbingly perfect for each other.

Prince Wales raised a brow archly. "Oh? I do hope you mean the Army. If this steel quality can be maintained, I do believe it will become a fine replacement for bronze in our cannons."

"Not just cannons." Lord Thinker added. "If we can secure large quantities of iron from Germania, better mass produced equipment for the commoner soldiers as well, and new tools for the civilian markets."

And armor cladding, and _steam_ engines, Hyuuga wiped away the drool before anyone noticed, and where was she? Oh yes! "And here we are." She waved to the less than grandiose site of today's demonstration.

The clearing, sided out to about a hundred meters to either side by raised earthen berms and backed by another berm a little bit over a kilometer out, was what could best be described as a firing range, or perhaps a gunnery range given the capacity of the local artillery.

Targets, wooden cut outs and stacks of painted hay bales, had been arranged at regular intervals out to the berms, and a particularly large target sitting at extreme range, the gutted hulk of a Tristanian Brig judged too decrepit to continue service.

Most of the ship had been set down in the field as target practice, the useful bits, the ballasting engine and fittings, and had been removed for reuse, planking and fixtures from the starboard gun deck had been reassembled at this end of the range, forming a mock gunnery deck fitted with ten of Albion's 'advanced' cannons.

Hyuuga snorted at the monicker like it was a bad joke. 'Advanced?!' She'd made a better potato gun in grade school! The Leprechaun led the observers to towards a sideless tent erected to provide a shaded place to watch over the proceedings. Meanwhile, the rest of her team hurried about on the range, making final adjustments.

Not all of them were Faeries.

Hyuuga watched the collection of commoner workers eagerly going about their duties. Canonneers supplied by Tristain and the Albion exiles, well, mostly supplied, some had volunteered, including a host of fellows from some small town up in the North who'd caught wind that a Fae project was looking for men experienced in soldiering, gunnery, and marksmanship.

That had been Lord Mortimer's idea. Half the battle of introducing something new was getting it accepted, and half of that battle was convincing the old guard to like it. They'd be retraining seasoned soldiers as much as training recruits in how to use the new weapons, so they might as well get a head start.

Which lead to another sensitive subject. Hyuuga frowned. Weapons . . . It wasn't as if she hadn't wrestled with that dilemma before. Using knowledge of science to help or hurt. Nuclear energy and nuclear weaponry for example. Sure, the current Prime Minister of Japan had been making noises and talking big about the development of full unmanned Drones for the Self Defense Forces, no way that one was going anywhere any time soon, the AI to pull it off was _decades_ away, at best.

But for a Japanese citizen born at the very tail end of the twentieth century, with nearly five decades of peace insulating her from the times her Grandfather had talked about, war had always been an abstraction. Now, however, that abstraction was her reality. Even if the weapons she was helping to create were popguns compared to what their own world had at its disposal.

Hegent could ignore those sorts of things as she went on in her own little world, dreaming up crazy inventions to combine magic and science, like the little piston engine she'd been sketching up, driven by 'melting' windstone shards. And Yuyu, well, that particular Faerie was too busy keeping her head down, and Hegent's head _attached_ to think much about the topic.

Which was why she'd asked Rucks how he felt about it, and gotten back what was probably the best answer she was ever going to find.

The truth was, they didn't have much of a choice. Everyone had a right to live, and no one had the right to take that away. But humans didn't think too much about those rights sometimes. Sometimes you had to make tools to do unto others, and then hope that you were wise and merciful enough to not do too badly unto them.

So with that in mind, she took a breath as the Royals and Nobles were seated, their financiers, and then begun her introduction.

"I know that it goes without saying. But let me start by thanking you all for your time, interest, and funding of our ventures. I know that not everyone who wished to attend could be here today, but they asked that this demonstration go forward regardless. I am Chief Engineer Hyuuga of the Tristain Royal Institute of Science and Technology, or TRIST for short." Hyuuga patted a hand against her chest. "It has been my great honor to be asked to provide you all with this demonstration and progress report."

"This will be a showcasing of the new ordinance, will it not?" Captain Fevis of the Royal Navy raised his hand. "Does that mean that you have discovered the secret to Albion's new cannons?"

"Yes, and yes." Hyuuga replied. "As you'll see in just a moment." She coughed to clear her throat and catch her place. "Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, this institution was founded at the Express Request of Queen Marianne and Cardinal Mazarin." Always, giving a small bow of thanks to the man who had made this all possible. "With the express purpose of exploring the application of the technology of our homeworld for the betterment of the Kingdom in both military and civil fields."

Waving a hand to the demonstration being arranged within view. "Unfortunately, at this time, the emphasis is more on the former than the latter as you will see now. It was concerns over Albion's acquisition of these long range cannons that first prompted the Crown to come to us for a solution. So it seems fitting that we begin the day's events with a demonstration, not only of Albion's new weapons, but also, their workings and . . ." She fought the twitching of her lip, craftswoman's pride, even if the fruits of her labor were something horrible, they were still her children " . . . our improvements."

"Yuyu, would you please call to the men that they can make ready." Hyuuga instructed, the other Leprechaun hopping into action to direct the rest of the Faerie and human staff. A month ago, not knowing any better, she would have told them to load the cannons well before hand, now, after all of the research she'd done on the topic, she understood why that simply wasn't done with these primitive muzzle loaders.

The field was cleared, guns were wrestled into position, while Hyuuga walked up beside the nearest cannon, unmounted from its carriage, and of course, unloaded, set beside a smaller shape still draped in canvas.

"_This_ is an Albionian 'Advanced' model naval cannon captured during the raid on York. It can fire a twenty four libres projectile, a twenty four pounder in Albionian parlance, out to an effective range of approximately two thousand one hundred mails, around a league and half, from an effective elevation of zero and inclination of plus five degrees." Hyuuga's eyes narrowed. "It is at this time, among the deadliest known mundane artillery available in bulk to the Forces of Albion."

There were spells that could hit harder, and there were spells that could cast father, but none that could do both and fielded in any real quantity.

Hyuuga paused for dramatic effect, letting what she had said sink in. Most of the Nobles _knew_ about the superior cannons, they hadn't known just how far they were outstripped until now. It would have been a disaster to let them know how badly they were outmatched. And _only_ now were they permitted to know as TRIST readied to supply Tristain with an effective countermeasure.

"The range of these cannons is not, in itself what is so worrisome." Prince Wales observed quietly. "Rather, coupled with Albion's already superior ships of the line. I would say, even with their present losses, that if these cannons can be equipped across the entire battle line, the Rebel Navy would be able to contest the combined fleets of Tristain and Germania, perhaps even Romalia as well, if they choose to remain on the defensive and do not surrender the altitude gauge."

"Advantage atop advantage." Captain Fevis whispered. "Is there no end to the luck the devil showers them with?"

"There is." Hyuuga promised as she ran her hands over the cold metal surface, feeling the texture, and almost, _almost, _feeling _inside_ the texture, to the flaws, and defects, microscopic cracks, and strain flows, the billions of displaced atoms, the deformed structure where carbon prevented the smooth sliding of iron in sheer.

"Prince Wales, Captain Fevis, I'm sure you're both able to see that these Albionian cannons are different from the ones you're used to." Hyuuga slapped a palm against the top of the barrel.

"Yes, an elongated body, and enlarged reinforce rings along the length, particularly at the breech." Wales said with a well-practiced eye. "Certainly, lengthening the cannon will improve its firing range. This has always been well understood by naval gunners." The Prince crossed his arms, shaking his head as he frowned. "It is not a solution by any measure. The benefit of every mail of barrel diminishes until it can no longer justify the added weight of the cannon."

"Very true." Captain Fevis agreed. "And so far, none of the naval officers we have detained have been able to tell us the secret of these cannons. It cannot merely be their make, the ones we have tested have not been so exceptionally superior to our own in test firing."

Of course they wouldn't be. "That's because you were only looking at one half of the equation." Hyuuga said. "When the ships were captured, you were in a hurry to load them up and get out of Albion as fast as possible. I heard that you ditched a lot of their gunpowder so that you could fill them with the stolen cannons."

"And in case any fool decided to scuttle our prizes." Captain Fevis agreed.

"Well, what you probably didn't know at the time, was that the powder you were throwing overboard was the _other_ secret." Said Hyuuga as she reached for a small, hempen pouch set beside the cannon breech. "I guess the designers of these guns wanted to keep the secret to their functioning for as long as possible, so they had the powder pre-milled and shipped in packaged allotments." She reached on hand in, feeling at the round pellets as she extracted a fistful for perusal. "Luckily we were able to piece the mystery together based on the charge bags that were still on-board, and looking at our own history."

The marshal Nobles, the Prince, Captain Fevis, Captain Lydel, and the Duke of Valliere all leaned close.

"It's . . . pellets?" Prince Wales pondered.

"Most unusual." Captain Fevis grunted. "Though I suppose it might be shaped that way easily enough, but why?"

"The proper term is corned." Hyuuga grinned. "And as Duke de La Valliere would say, 'Air and Fire'."

"Air . . ." Prince Wales muttered.

"And Fire." Captain Lydel's eyes widened the revelation struck him. "The spacing. To ensure thorough combustion!"

"Right you are." Hyuuga said. At least someone here got it. She guessed it was like a lot of obvious things, not so obvious if you never thought about it in the right light. "Actually, I was little surprised at first to learn that your gunpowder _wasn't_ granulated. It's something the adopters of cannons learned fairly early on."

But then again, on Earth, Cannons had been the premier bombardment weapon. In Halkegenia, they were the weapons of siege bombardment, to exhaust enemy mages while keeping their own fresh for the assault, and sky ships, which didn't trade fire nearly as often as the fleets of Earth's history. Air fleets were just too expensive to operate so casually, part of what made Albion's wind stone reserves such a strategic resource. And their limited endurance, along with certain death of the crew if destroyed, made battles of maneuver more often preferred."

It wasn't surprising really, that given the pressures, there hadn't been quite the same emphasis to develop cannons and gunpowder further. And yet, small arms were actually quite sophisticated with wheel and flint lock mechanisms making up the majority of 'modern' muskets. Maybe those gun designs, like the cannons and black powder before them, had been imported from Rub Al Khali.

"Combine wind and fire, more together than they could ever be apart." The Duke muttered under his breath. "A brilliant deduction, Chief Hyuuga. Then, the secret is in this 'corned powder'?"

"Oh yeah." The Leprechaun poured the pellets back into their pouch. "Not only does it combust more completely, making it more powerful, it's much more _consistent_."

Of course either Wales or Lydel would be able to dissect what that meant. "A consistent charge would mean better range." Wales said sagely. "More importantly, it would be more accurate, if the gunners can rely on the fact that there shot will fly the same each time . . . "

"Yes." Captain Fevis agreed. "It would take the guesswork out of our gunnery. So, longer range, and greater accuracy to use that range. Even worse than we thought."

"We intend to recast most of Tristain's naval cannons to match these long range guns." Lord Thinker said. "It will take time, but we should have enough materials. In the meantime, Tristain can field one squadron of ships with its own advanced cannons."

"But the Rebels have a head start. If they had enough of these cannons to equip an entire squadron, it won't be long at all before production replaces their losses to us. And what about manufacturing this powder?" Captain Eltin of the Dragon Knights asked. "Is there any secret to it?"

"Nothing that will make its production difficult." Hyuuga assured. "In fact, you already know to wet the powder during production, you just have to granulate it before setting it out to dry. And as for the accuracy, don't give the Rebels too much credit. Their guns may be more consistent, but if they're still using wood blocks and eyeballs to aim, then they aren't getting nearly their full use out of them, here." She beckoned for the Nobles to come closer. "Let me show you what we've been working on."

As expected, curiosity and good faith drew them in. Now, results would catch them hook line and sinker. A month, even a month of hard work, wasn't a whole lot of time. They'd needed to hit low hanging fruit, but fruit that would get results. This was one of those juicy bits of fruit. "Now, I'm sure you can see that there is nothing particularly special about the canon itself, but if I may direction your attention to the carriage."

"You mean these mechanisms?" Captain Fevis hooked a finger around the rim of a hand wheel, itself attached to a screw and plate that formed something not unlike a large vice.

These screws had started life as spares from the Lathe project that was Yuyu's responsibility, well it was Hegent's project, but mostly she wondered off into her own little world until an 'interesting' part of the design process cropped up that needed solving. Now, they made a perfectly serviceable elevation control. Sturdy, self-locking, and reasonably accurate, she couldn't have asked for more from the mage craftsmen who had shaped them, even if he was mortified that his fine 'clockwork expertise' was being put to work assembling something as gross as cannon carriage mechanism.

"These are elevation controls. Basically, a more consistent aiming mechanism to go along with the more consistent charge." Hyuuga explained. "Turning the elevation screws will allow the guns to be aimed much more precisely since each turn of the screw will result in almost exactly one tenth of a degree change in elevation." She pointed to the rear of the cannon where a plate and dial had been welded in place. "See here, the operators can use this to adjust based on the gunner's instructions."

Elevation control, and accurate gauging of elevation was even more important aboard an airship. After all, the cannons inherently needed a wider range of traverse to engage an enemy at differing elevation. So Hyuuga had been sure this one would impress them.

"I've heard of the Germanians dreaming up such things." Captain Lydel muttered. "But I've never seen them in person. Too expensive."

Lord Thinker shook his head. "Not for much longer if TRIST's other projects pan out. We could have all of the cannons equipped like this."

"It's still only as good as the gunner's eye." Wales furrowed his brow. "Unless you have machines for that as well."

The Leprechaun chuckled. "I thought you'd never ask, your Highness, if you notice the iron mechanism beside the breach, the one mounted on a hinge. If you would be so kind."

The Prince did as instructed, garnering more curious mutters from the Nobility as Hyuuga explained the workers of the primitive sight. And it really _was_ primitive, barely more than two metal brackets with notches marked into forward sight to make elevation adjustments for full and half powder load as well as both heavy and standard shot.

The precision it represented wasn't a great improvement over the naked eyes, but by forcing the gunners to conform to a standardized framework to judged barrel elevation, hopefully, the grouping of a salvo would be improved.

"So, as you can see, we've taken what Albion has given us, added a little something of our own to the mix, and now . . ." Hyuuga fished into her pocket for her appraisers monocle, placing it before her eye as she flourished a hand to the mock gun deck where the cannon crews were awaiting the order. "Princess Henrietta, if you would do the honors."

"Oh. Is that alright?" The Princess, who had remained politely observant, but left the speaking to her military advisers, looked quite taken by the suggestion. Of course, she was about to become Queen, the Crown Ruler of Tristain. Technically, these guns all belonged to her.

"Not only is it alright." Hyuuga laughed. "I insist, Princess."

"If I might offer." Prince Wales leaned close to whisper in her ear. The Princess listened carefully and then nodded, coughing to clear her throat before raising her voice to a clear shout.

"Gunnery Chiefs, ready the batteries!"

Shouts of 'Aye' came from the men prepared on the 'deck', taking up firing positions beside each of their cannons.

"Survey range!"

"Aim!"

Then, waiting as the crews mad their final adjustments, Henrietta turned to Wales, whispering "Now?"

The Prince nodded. "Now."

Turning back to the field. "Gunners. Fire!"

One thing to be said about the big guns. They didn't -crack-, they -boomed- with tooth rattling force, driving back on their heavy, slab carriages as recoil was absorbed into anchoring ropes and chain, fire spitting in long tongues, along with clouds of billowing smoke that obscured the view until Captain Eltin whisked it away with his wand.

No sooner had the guns finished firing then the observers turned their attention to the field. All muttering stopped as they saw the results.

Ten targets had been arranged along the length of the field, hay stacks or wood cutouts with a cross section of a alf dozen square meters apiece, spaced roughly equidistant down the line until just before the grounded hull of the old brig. Every one of them save the last had been hit, and the farthest target had been a near thing judging by the geyser of dirt that had just been dug up.

Of course, the guns had been given plenty of time to sight on perfectly still targets under the hand of skilled crews, all the same, it couldn't have driven the point home more beautifully.

Now, to sell them on it. "We're ready to begin talks with the guilds in Goibniu about serial production of the new elevation mechanisms and sights. We should be able to make enough for all of the existing guns, and retrofit them in no more than two months."

"Astounding." Captain Fevis breathed, gray eye glittered with calculations as the Captain of Tristain's flagship tried and failed to fully comprehend what this meant for his own profession.

Big changes. Big, BIG changes. That was what it meant. And once they had steel production down, well. Hegent wasn't the only one who dreamed of combining technology with native magic.

Hyuuga eyed the old Brig's hulk. This one would never fly again, but about a week back, while stretching her wings, she'd run across the hull of a frigate touched down in an old abandoned slip at the edge of some Noble estate or other, still in surprisingly good condition, just abandoned midway through construction.

A shame too. Even to Hyuuga's unpracticed eye, she would have been _beautiful, _a graceful white dart of a ship, with sails radiating in a five mast configuration around her prow. Even her name, paint long faded, but engraved wood proudly proclaiming her the _Elsa. _

A little fishing around had revealed that she was an old Albionian style clipper commissioned years ago by the then obscenely wealthy Montmorency family, but when their fortunes had dried up, so had interest in the project.

She was unwanted, she was unloved, she was unfinished. She was _perfect_.

The Montmorency patriarch at the time, deluding himself that he'd recover the family fortunes, had squandered quite a bit of money on having the hull set with a spell of permanence. It had weathered the years astonishingly well, and though Hyuuga was no expert on carpentry, her timbers had appeared sound. And with that voluminous cargo hold, set perfectly to house some of the power plants she'd been sketching out . . . She just needed the money to _buy_ her. And then, the Elsa might finally fly on wings her original masters had never dreamed of.

How much could a half-completed ship cost anyways?

But if she wanted that money, she reminded herself, she'd have to earn it.

"Now that I have your undivided attention and have demonstrated stage one of the Tristain Armaments Initiative, allow me to show you the first fruits of stage _two_."

Another dramatic flourish to draw attention to the small, canvas covered object, and then the heavy fabric was pulled aside to reveal what lay beneath. The muttering this time was considerably more subdued, but nonetheless curiosity reigned as the second, much smaller cannon was looked over.

"A light cannon. This can't be more than a three pounder." Prince Wales stroked his chin. "Though, quite exquisitely crafted. Is this made with steel from the new furnace?"

Hyuuga nodded before allowing the Prince to continue his observations. "And another of these sighting mechanisms."

"A refined version, it was much harder to make." She confirmed. But they hadn't had much of a choice if it was going to be accurate at range against targets that were smaller than an entire ship."

"And these . . . springs?" Captain Fevis commented, probing at the heavy steel coils. "Is that not a bit dangerous?"

"Not just springs." Hyuuga corrected archly, pointing at the spring assemblies to the rod within. "As you can see, this mechanism integrates a hydraulic system as well. Not merely a spring, but a _shock_ absorber." They'd been lucky to find an ALfheim material almost perfectly suited to forming the tight seal that they needed, and a native alchemist that had been able to synthesize a good approximation to mineral oil.

Of course, the ideal would be that the absorber reset the cannon for the next shot, but that was a little beyond their abilities for now. Hyuuga had been perfectly happy to settle for a mechanism that would allow the cannon to be mounted on a lightweight, two horse transportable carriage.

"A lovely piece of craftsmanship." Captain Elten said. "But hardly cannon suited for a ship."

"That's because it isn't meant for a ship." She said confidently, watching the confusion of the mages with mild pleasure. This was the best part about explaining something new and interesting. Mages were used to thinking of cannons as bombardment device and fortification weapons, not _support_ weapons. Support was a job for dot and line mages, and so cannons had languished until Lord Mortimer had started studying just how they were used here in Halkegenia.

Then the Salamander had started some rambling talk about some King or other . . . Hyuuga _really_ wasn't good with history.

The Leprechaun continued her explanation. "This is a prototype for the infantry cannons that Lord Mortimer wants us to produce, the XM-1 'Arbalest'." Because all new weapons needed a code name! "Although it's meant for the infantry, its small size also makes it perfect for prototyping, it includes many features we hope to incorporate into naval cannons. And of course, in addition to this for the infantry . . ." She reached down to a final package beside the Arbalest, revealing the contents to the gathered nobles.

"A musket?" Captain Elten sounded almost dismissive. "Is this what Lord Mortimer has you working on?"

"A rifle actually." Hyuuga hefted the bulky huntsman's weapon. She was no good with it, but some of the canonneers were excellent shots, especially with the new ammunition. "Catch!" She tossed the weapon, and a paper cylinder, not too different in dimensions to a wrapper full of coins.

"What the devil is this?" Captain Elten squinted as he pulled the paper open and a pile of even more finely granulated corned powder poured out, followed by a musket ball, or rather, something that would have resembled a greased musket ball if it weren't conical.

"That, Captain Elten, is a _Minie_ Ball." Hyuuga answered with cold pride in evil thing she had birthed into this unexpecting world. "And when you get a look at what a rifle can do with one of those, you're going to see things in a whole new light."


	3. Prologue Pt 3: Recruitment

This one will conclude the prologue. This first scene should probably have been in the epilogue for v2.0, but it was already getting monstrously long so I thought they'd work better here.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 - Prologue Part 3

Damn them.

Worse then the betrayal.

Damn them.

Worse then the humiliation of being had by that bastard Janglers and his men.

DAMN THEM!

Worse even than being captured, his ambitions ruined.

It was the waiting that was slowly sapping away the last of Terrance de Martou's will. The waiting while the Crown finally decided what was going to be done with him. Once again he rocked from side to side, trying pointlessly to loosen the binds tied tightly around his forearms. Around, and around, and around, again and again until he could barely feel his fingers.

He'd been like this for hours now, set into the interrogation chair, the walk here, his first human contact in what had to have been days.

They'd all been eager, the red and black garbed men, and their accompanying torturers, to extract what they wanted from him. He'd never let the former need use of the latter.

Terrance de Martou was not a brave man. And so, they had found no resistance, no tight lips in need of loosening. For days he'd hardly been let to rest as they questioned and prodded and coaxed him to infer and offer up every last thing he'd known, even things he hadn't known that he'd known.

And after they'd gotten everything, everything he could give them, everything they had come for, they had left as wordlessly as they'd arrived.

This was the final fate of Terrance de Martou, sympathizer to the glorious cause of the Reconquista and criminal to the Crown of Tristain. Criminal to Tristain . . . and pawn of Albion. He raged within himself. Did he have no dignity left to cling too?!

Now, he was alone again in the dark. Only his own wandering thoughts for company. A much more subtle torture than any hot brand or dull knife.

He'd never even allowed for himself to consider the possibility of his capture. To do so would have driven him from this path in fear. It would be the gallows for him surely. There was nothing else to be said for it. For his crimes he would face execution.

Terrance's head sagged low. How had it come to this?! It had all been so perfect. He would win back fame and title. He would be a gentleman with enough money to never again need his criminal connections, and well respected for his part in bringing the conflict to a close with so little spilled blood.

Now, Father and Grandfather would have killed him themselves if they'd known this would be the fate of their line, gambling away the family's fortunes, ignoring obligations and snubbing family allies, leaving mother to rot in that hovel of a manor until her last days.

He'd made back some of the money through his illicit dealings, but he could never regain the loss of reputation. Thinking about this only now as the hour of his demise neared.

Joining up with the Reconquistadors was supposed to have been his chance!

Now, it only meant he had something the Crown wanted to rip from his tongue before they killed him. He had cooperated, as they had asked, to spare himself pain. But he at least deserved to know his fate, to have it told to him, as a formality, nothing more.

It was all that Jangler's fault! He knew it! Using him like this, not letting him know what was really happening, planning to dispose of him all the while!

Damn him! Damn them!

Sinuses burned as hot tears came to his eyes. Could they not just kill him now and end his humiliation?

"D-D-damn you . . . you bastards . . . !"

The noise of grinding iron roused him from his thoughts, the sound as the heavy door grated against its stone frame causing his head to rise.

Footfalls, silence, and then . . .

"Good evening Mister de'Martou."

Was it evening? He could not say, having not seen the sun in . . . days? Weeks?

No wait, the voice of a woman?

He pondered, it sounded that way, but he could not yet see. The interrogation chair was turned to the far wall, and high backed so that the door remained out of view.

An interrogator could arrive, speak their business, and leave, without ever being seen by the subject save as a shadow cast by the lantern light. But he felt her, the presence of another so close beside him, and then, brushing past into his truncated field of vision.

De'Martou squinted in the dim lantern light. He'd grown quite good with faces over the years. Better than most. The need to know a man, or woman, on sight who went by more than one name was essential in his line of work.

So as it were, he did recognize the face that he was confronted by now with its severe expression and dirty blonde mop of boyish hair.

"You." He mouthed. "It's you!"

That little protestant wench who had smuggled her way into the good graces of the crown and joined the ranks of the Royal Guards. He'd seen her, often enough as she ran around on her errands, blindly investigating hither and thither, her and her musketeers.

After a while, he'd judged her no threat, a woman after all, chosen more to sit pleasingly beside the Princess as a token than for mind and sense.

What was her name now . . . for the life of her he could not recall . . . ah yes!

"Lieutenant . . . Lieutenant Agnes?" A commoner officer!

In the dark, the woman's lips twitched icily. "Captain, actually. A promotion was in order for my work on behalf of the Crown. And also, Chevalier de Milan as a matter of course."

"A Ch-chevalier?" Terrance choked out the word. That was to say . . . the crown had made a protestant, a commoner, a woman, a . . . a _breeding sow,_ into a Knight?! It was too much, too much not to laugh, despite the pain the indiscretion might cause him.

Lieutenant . . . Captiain Agnes, Chevalie de Milan, held her smile. "I hope you find it amusing."

"Oh ho ho." de Martou rasped out, paunch, somewhat reduced by his confinement, jiggling merrily. "I must be losing my mind. A witch like you, a Knight?!" Given land and title and . . . and nobility.

NO! No matter what this woman was called, a commoner could no more become an aristocrat than a pig could be dressed in human clothing and called a man. At the command of the Queen it might be entertained, but always it would be known a farce.

Then why did it hurt so much, that his ill fortunes were her gains?

"Our Princess has many strange and wonderful ideas, wouldn't you agree?" Agnes mused as she turned away from him. "Of course, I don't agree with all of the one's she's become taken with, but what is the duty of a loyal servant but to voice her concerns to her highness and then trust in God?"

"Speaking of God as a protestant?" Terrance muttered darkly. "You have some nerve, don't you woman?"

"And you lack the sense to keep your mouth shut." She replied. "But I'm not here at this late date to give you a lecturing in loyalty to one's sovereign. In fact, just the opposite, there is a matter that has been overlooked in the madness of the past weeks. I do believe you might be of help bringing about its conclusion.

"A matter?" Terrance pondered, licking lips slowly. "And what matter, at this, as you put it 'late date', could possibly require my services?" They'd already taken from him every scrap and tidbit and small detail that had ever rattled through his brain. He was of no use now. There was nothing he knew that they did not already have at their disposal.

Or so he thought.

"Listen closely now." The Protestant said as she turned her head, casually examining one of the iron hooks, hung from the wall. "You may have been so foolish as never to have realized your roll in the whole of things, but that is not an excuse that will save you from the noose."

"If it were up to me, you'd be hung by the neck until dead already. But it is not up to me. Now then, there is a sensitive political matter, it is not so pressing a thing really, but it has been decided that if you cooperate fully, your sentence will be commuted."

That got his attention. Terrance licked dry lips. "A pardon?"

Now it was Agnes' turn to laugh. "You'd like that very much I'm sure. But no. Ten years hard labor, and life in prison on charges of smuggling. It will be an ignominious end to you, but if you survive the first decade, as a nobleman, you might live out the reast in some semblance of modest comfort."

Not death . . . prison for life . . .

'What could I possible have?' What could they possible want?! Was this a last joke on the part of the Crown?

His silence was interpreted as disinterest by the cold blooded she-wolf they'd sent to mock him. "If you do not wish to save yourself, then I shall take my leave now and . . ."

"No!" He sensed opportunity slipping through his fingers. "No . . . I . . . I am . . . that is to say . . . How could I be of, ah, of service? What do you need to know?"

And like that he realized, without even the threat of violence, she had him.

Head tilted, the newly minted Chevalier wrinkled her nose as she looked him over. "Not what you know,who you know. Your contacts in Tristain are being rounded up. But those in Gallia and Germania are beyond our reach and have gone to ground. You'll know how to contact them, I'm sure, your buyers."

"Buyers? Yes . . . buyers." de'Martou whispered a small prayer under his breath. "Which buyers might you be interested in?"

And then a shiver at the small, quiet voice that whispered into his ear, a weight like a hummingbird lighting onto his shoulder. He turned his head to look, he could not help but look!

And found . . . found . . . Founder . . .

"A Pixie?"

The doll like creature, resting lightly on his shoulder, glaring hatefully at him. So much like the other little dolls he'd trafficked just weeks ago. Delightful little creatures, sure to garner interest from the right clients.

But this one was so different from those ethereal little girls. Bigger for one, he was sure, figure both leaner and fuller, like that of a young woman rather than a child, and brandishing in her hand a needle like a miniscule saber, testing its point with one, nearly invisibly small fingertip.

"A knight." The girl said quietly. "Good day, Mister de'Martou. You can't imagine how much I've been wanting to talk to you." de'Martou watched as the girl took her needle, and touched it to the skin just beneath his left eye, allowing him to feel its sharpness for himself. "I would like to know what you've done with my sisters."

* * *

"Industrialization, standardization, and mobilization, these are the essential tenants that Tristain must adopt if she is to overcome her deficiency in war fighting ability against the Kingdom of Albion. You've already seen the first step being deployed, the design and construction of the new factory machines and furnaces."

Fujioka Katsuo, Mortimer, Lord Mortimer, First Lord of Gaddan, and by dint of skill and more than a little luck, War Leader of the Faerie Races in the dangerously real world of Halkegenia, looked up from the document he was perusing to gauge the faces of his fellows.

On his left, General Belgen de Gramont, Supreme Commander of the ground forces of the Kingdom of Tristain. A tall, lank, and unusually foppish man who much resembled his youngest son. Appearances hid a keen and observant military mind, and a wealth of practical knowledge, that Mortimer had grown to greatly respect during their time together. Along with a certain way of viewing things, that was not always as expected.

To his right, was Count Eren La Ramee, Equally Supreme Commander of Tristain's Navy and equally acknowledged as an experienced, albeit often uninspired man, lacking the unconventional streak of the General sitting opposite. Impressively mustachioed, and dressed in the uniform of a Flag Officer.

Finally, there was Mortimer himself, or rather, Fujioka Katsuo. Thirty years old, if he counted the time they had been here in Halkegenia, albeit in a body that would get him mistaken for a much younger man. Shoulder length red hair, blood-red eyes, and severe features that he had been told did not suit his real world self at all.

Mortimer, who had, almost overnight, found himself dubbed a 'Tactical Genius' by his allies and his enemies alike. A title that surprised no one more than Mortimer himself. He had simply done what came naturally, detached himself, drawn on his historical knowledge, calculated, and executed, as he always had when faced with something unpleasant.

His title was also one that came with a good deal of benefit and danger. The prestige and clout, naturally, but also, the resentment and hostility. A hand probed at his tender flank.

He could not forget that Albion thought highly of him at least, highly enough to go to lengths to have him assassinated and his body delivered to Reconquista, likely for zombification. He didn't know whether to be honored or horrified.

The danger to his life also explained the last person in the room, hovering over him like his own shadow. Slight, silver haired, with skin as pallid and eyes as blood red as his own. Lydia, Commander of the Salamander Knights, his personal guard contingent, and one of the most superb swordswomen among the races of ALfheim.

For all of that, today's venue was not a particularly auspicious one. Set in a meeting room on the second floor of the Champ de Mars HQ building, windows overlooking ranks of wooden barracks and the fields where musketeer formations were hard at work being drilled.

The barks of sergeants carried as far as the window, wafting on the last of the spring breeze.

Looking up from their own documents, translations drawn up by one of Mortimer's staff, his own command of the Tristanian written language was still quite rubbish, and he didn't care to make either man suffer through his handwriting or poorly written translation. It appeared that the Fae's gift of tongues did not extend as far as the written word.

Mortimer gauged the two men carefully, awaiting their reply. It was La Ramee who answered first, tossing his stack of papers back onto the dark, polished conference table. "You say that, Lord Mortimer, but this seems, how should I put it . . . overly ambitious?"

Mortimer placed his elbows on the table. "You mean to say frivolous, I'm sure." He was under no illusion about what he was requesting.

"We're going to war with Albion, a Kingdom of unassailable positional advantage, and you occupy yourself with uniforms?" La Ramee shook his head.

"I do like these sketches though." Belgen supplied with a whimsical smile. "I don't suppose these are your doing?" He looked to Mortimer, lifting an illustration of the proposed foot soldier's uniform, standard cut, a very martial and functional looking affair shown front and back. Its creator had even taken to paints to color the illustration in olive drab.

Mortimer sighed heavily. "No, those would be the product of Lydia's imagination."

"My Lord!" His guard Captain looked betrayed.

"Eh? I'd rate the work as not half bad." Belgen mused with a small wink to Lydia's open displeasure.

"I . . . I was aiming for utility." Lydia grumbled.

"Your sense of fashion aside, General Gramont." Mortimer said coolly. "There is a good a time as any to propose a standard uniform. To my knowledge, the raising of the current Royal Army will be unprecedented in the history of Tristain." His comment garnered the full attention of both men. "If I am not mistaken, this will be the first time a standing army has been raised singularly beneath the Crown."

"That's right enough Lad." General Gramont admitted. "I think we were both in the room when that was declared."

"Though I don't think our Fair Princess thought it through. The Old Families are howling for blood over it." La Ramee muttered.

In previous times, when a call to arms had been made by the Crown, each Noble family had been instructed to raise levies, volunteer for service, or hire Free Companies that would then be placed at their pleasure into the service of the Crown.

As the Nobility owed fealty to the Royal Family, the forces of the Nobility were to be considered a national army in times of war. This was in many ways an extension of the previous feudal system where Nobility was conferred as an extension of governance and military service.

Were that it were so simple. There were many complications to this method of raising an army, not the least of which was the proliferation of Mercenaries.

Put simply, the art of war was one that demanded constant honing. And the men, commoner and mage alike, who made a career of such things, were easily worth the money of their hiring.

However, most Kingdom's were not so wealthy as to keep such men in times of peace, instead favoring the smaller garrison armies such as those that manned Tristain's border Fortresses and roadway houses.

The solution was freelancers, sell swords, mercenaries who had an unfortunate tendency of not leaving once the fighting was ended and their services no longer required. They were frequently more trouble than they were worth, eating up vast swaths of resources to remain on the march, and leaving nothing but ruin in their path.

In Earth's own history, there had been times in the early modern period where the mercenary armies had roamed parts of Europe almost unchecked

Even when the Free Companies worked as intended, they brought other complications. An eclectic mix of equipment for one, and an equally mixed level of quality, ranging from elite units under experienced commanders, to barely organized mobs.

As national identities developed, surpluses grew, and governments centralized, the tendency became to replace the mercenary companies with standing national armies manned by professional officers and conscript soldiers.

The armies were paid by the Crown directly, rather than through funds raised by a Noble Lord, and were thus considered more politically reliable than the mercenaries they replaced. The men were raised up from within the country and so were likelier to be loyal to their nation, and most, with the exception of officers, were not career soldiers and would return to a productive civilian life when their service was concluded.

In addition, the armies were supplied by the government, allowing standardization of equipment, and thus training, drill, and logistics, all essential to create the sort of disciplined and orderly force that would be needed to recapture Albion without burning what was left to the ground.

Halkegenia found itself sitting on the cusp of such a changeover, from the Free Companies to professional, national armies. This had been true even before the Fae had arrived. Mortimer intended for Tristain to ride ahead of the curve.

"This is just the first step in standardization." Mortimer explained. "A single uniform, modified where necessary, to be worn by all regiments. Ideally, we'll be able to issue every foot soldier with basic equipment of the same pattern as well."

"Yes." Admiral La Ramee returned to reading his notes. "One standard uniform coat, two standard uniforms, one pair of boots, one tarpaulin and . . . three full sets of undergarments?"

"As I said," Mortimer sighed, "It might appear frivolous. But a standard uniform that must be kept in form helps to maintain formation discipline. Having a replacement on hand removes any excuse for slovenly appearance and means that pests like lice can be regularly purged in the laundry. A good canvas tarp or blanket can be the difference between staying dry and warm or succumbing to sickness in the rain, and of course, I'm sure General Gramont can speak to the importance of proper, clean, foot wraps on a long march."

Belgen winced visible as he rubbed at his good leg. "Well, I can certainly vouch for that." The old General admitted. "And proper uniforms can make or break military discipline . . . We'll have to cloth and equip them anyway, so I suppose it's worth the effort on that merit. Though on the matter of equipment, I'm more concerned with armament, and by extension, strategy." Belgen tapped a finger against the surface of the table. "I confess, I'm still leery of these formations."

"If I may ask, whatever for?" Mortimer gathered his hands on the table. "You've seen the rate of fire and range of the rifles using the new ammunition. I thought that we'd settled this?" He pondered if he had missed something.

Contrary to popular perception, Mortimer _knew_ that he was not an experienced field commander, he had met with some success so far, but there was nothing he valued more than the input of senior officers like General Gramont and Admiral La Ramee. Conventional wisdom was most often an invaluable resource, so long as the reasons for those conventions were kept in mind.

The problem was, by conventional wisdom, Prince Wales should have been dead, and Tristain should have been under attack by now as Albion launched its invasion, most likely taking advantage of the sparse settlements and clearings to the north of the Capital to make their initial landfall before advancing for a decapitation strike.

"Aye, and it was an impressive display." Belgen nodded earnestly. "What I wouldn't have given for a company of them during the last Gallian border skirmish. Which is also the problem . . ."

Mortimer closed his eyes and breathed out. "We're asking for rather more than a company."

Another bob of the old General's head. Reaching up to play out a lock of gray-blonde hair. "It's one thing to keep some of these riflemen on hand. But nearly twenty thousand is more than a few rifleers."

In fact, it was approximately half of the total commoner force that was expected to be assembled. Combined with artillery crews for the new cannons, pikemen, scout and mage cavalry, the mage foot squads, Fae volunteers, and the mercenary auxiliaries, they accounted for nearly two fifths of the proposed National Army's combat strength, an increase of four fold in number when compared with the traditional mage, shot, and pike formations of the continent.

The emphasis on the commoner formations was indeed unusual, as was their employment as a primary arm of combined arms strategy rather than as a harassment force or living bulwarks to protect the Mage formations who were viewed as the true striking power of the army. Commoners, no matter training or armament, were not considered much compared to the mages that they served under, only of value en mass and when supported by magic users.

"And of course, there will be convincing the rest of the General Staff." La Ramee chimed in.

Mortimer grimaced, another matter entirely. Men like de Pointier, General Gramont's appointed second in command. Brave, loyal, and utterly set in their ways. It had been one thing to get them behind a mad plan for survival. Now however, they felt quite comfortable settling back into their old ways. They'd fight change every chance they got, especially anything that reduced the glory of armed service going to the aristocracy.

He had some ideas about that and was about to comment when there came a knock at the door.

"Did someone remember to order lunch?" General Gramont looked between his two fellows and Lydia.

The Salamander swordswoman frowned, hand lightly touching upon her sword as she went to answer the door. Peeking out, she spoke to someone standing in the hall.

"Pardon?"

All three men grew alert at once. 'Pardon.' One of those words that one never wanted to hear. It could be code for anything really.

Lydia turned around, expression . . . bemused. She was briefly lost in thought before at last coming to a decision. "My Lord, it appears that you have a . . . I suppose you could say we have guests awaiting downstairs . . ."

"Guests?" General Gramont frowned. "Was anything more said than guests?"

'Guests.' A word almost as loaded as 'Pardon'.

"I think that it would be best," Lydia said very diplomatically, "That you see for yourselves. They're waiting now in the foyer."

Not like Lydia to be so vague, Mortimer stroked his chin. Which meant it was probably something quite atypical.

Whether Belgen noticed or cared, curiosity had already gotten the better of him. "Well then, Gents?"

A break couldn't possible hurt. Mortimer supposed as he followed after the General. He only grew more curious as they passed staff and officers muttering uncomfortably, and at last came to a cordon of guards looking, not ill at ease, but almost put at a loss by something. In any case, they were happy to allow the trio of military strategists and Lydia to pass.

"Just . . . keep an open mind, my Lord." Lydia whispered in his ear as they made for the stairs. And what could that possibly mean? Perhaps Sakuya was right, perhaps he was just that terrible at reading peo . . .

This wasn't right. He thought as they reached the second floor landing overlooking the foyer. For one, the Champ de Mars HQ was quite the martial institution, its halls solemn and well-kept, and most oft empty save at times of peak activity. And certainly, it was against military conduct to admit one's animal familiar.

And yet, at that very moment, the fluttering of wings was the loudest noise in the hall, as feathered and chitinous shapes lined the balconies and tops of cabinets. Shapes that elicited a distinct feeling of familiarity.

'_Dracos Teranus Minor_, and _Vespia Vespia Majorus_.' Mortimar paused the names came unbidden to his mind, tidbits absorbed in reports some time and some place else. In other words, Feathered Dragons, and Willow Wasps, among other, small, flying mobs.

Not familiars at all . . . Only then did his eyes pick out the small shapes, sitting atop the mobs, or moving between them, like large insects, or hummingbirds, until one took flight, silhouetted like a Faerie in miniature.

"What the blazes." General Gramont growled. "Listen here! What is the meaning of this!"

The chattering, chirps, and what Mortimer only recognized now as tiny, whispered voices, fell silent as one. Replaced by a single surprisingly loud and clear voice.

"Pardon us!"

Mortimer looked about at the sound of the voice as much as either Tristanian. Lydia, however, seemed to already have figured it out, pointing with a wane smile.

"Down here!"

The voice, coming from a table at the middle of the Foyer, from a miniscule figure much too small to reasonably contain it, looking right at them. All things considered, the Tristanians took the sight remarkably well.

"Eren." Belgen muttered, rubbing slowly at his eyes. "Tell me. Do you see this?"

"I do believe so." La Ramee admitted.

"Oh, good. I thought I was finally going mad."

"They asked to speak with you, apparently." Lydia informed Mortimer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "They were quite insistent with the Guards, and well . . . Can you imagine someone trying to stop them?"

Mortimer felt the hundreds of big, curious eyes looking out from young, girlish faces. Despite the crude armor adorning their small bodies, and the miniscule spears and swords that they prominently brandished, it was hard to see them in an ill light.

Like an army of mouse children. So long as they were doing no harm, he supposed anyone with a heart would be reluctant to dislodge them.

"May I?" Mortimer gestured to Admiral La Ramee and General Gramont, the elder men swiftly granting him their blessing to step forward as spokesman. "I am Lord Mortimer, First Lord of Gaddan, I was told I was asked for by name."

The chattering rose again, and then fell silent as the girl on the table raised her hand. Interesting, then the others deferred to her?

Mortimer squinted. Without her helm, she was golden haired, with bright blue eyes and serious set to her face, as if her default expression was an irritated frown. Beneath black chitin armor she wore a small patchwork dress of yellow and red. She stood calmly, arms crossed, waiting.

When she heard Mortimer identify himself, she nodded. "Good day, Lord Mortimer, it is my honor to meet with the Lord of the Fire Fae."

"And a good morning to you, Miss . . ."

"Kigiku." The girl supplied, spreading amber wings to hover at eye height. "Kigiku, Eldest Knight of Tarbes Garden. You are the supreme Leader of the Fae Forces protecting ALfheim and Tristain, correct?"

Mortimer's brow rose, looking back over his shoulder, he was met by curious nods. Of course, it was the truth, the Fae Auxiliaries fell under his singular command for the time being. "That is correct." Mortimer kept his expression composed.

The girl nodded thoughtfully. "Lord Mortimer of the Salamanders, we have come with the blessing of our Eldest Sister Hinagiku, Shaman of Tarbes Garden, and Elder Sister Botan, Knight of Tarbes Garden. Before you are the Eldest Knights of the Twenty Gardens of ALfheim."

"And to what purpose, might I ask?" Mortimer paused to sweep the room, at a guess, around four hundred he would suppose. Not all were mounted, most had come only by themselves, or else left their mounts outside. Watching from high vantages or clinging easily to the walls. Like an army of teenaged, armored, hornet girls in miniature.

"We . . ." The pixie girl balled her fists. "We wish to pledge ourselves, to fight for our homes!"

Mortimer rocked back. Well then, this was . . . unexpected.

"We decided after Botan-chan returned to us with some of our lost sisters and told us of what she had learned and seen. And Hinagiku-sama has spoken with Lady Sakuya and Princess Henrietta on this matter on many occasions. We are to be treated as Fae of ALfheim, and the sanctity of our Gardens and shoots honored. Thanks to that, we can live safely. But we will not take this privilege and give nothing for it!"

It was hard to believe so much force could exist inside of a body so small.

"The world is dangerous for our kind and our lives are very difficult. All that we have are our sisters and our Gardens. And to know that there are people who wish to destroy our homes, even Mother Yggdrasil if given the chance . . ." A furious shake of the head. "The small lives have not forgotten the purpose of our existence!"

Without so much as a word from Lord Mortimer, the Pixie settled back to the surface of the table, and with a small, whispered prayer, folded herself into a bow. "Please, Mortimer-sama. Though the Fae have long split from us, we are still sisters . . . help us to protect our homes."

The room fell hushed. There was nothing more to be said. Or so it seemed.

"It is a generous offer." Mortimer began slowly. How to say this . . . he did not think of himself as a callous man. "It would have to be agreed upon by the other Lords . . ."

"Lady Sakuya has already given us her blessing." Kigiku said.

"Sakuya?" Mortimer grimaced. Now that was hard to believe.

"You may see us as children." The night fluttered her wings in agitation. "That isn't fair, Mortimer-sama, we are grown Knights, we understand what it is to fight and die for the sake of others. Sakuya-sama understands this, though it took time for Hinagiku-sama to convince her. We do not ask your permission Lord Mortimer, only your help."

In other words, they would do this anyway, and there was nothing that any human or Fae could do to stop them. All the stubbornness of a teenager crammed into that miniscule body. But . . . He'd read the reports about the Pixie garden at Tarbes, and of the Knight who had been so essential in spying on the conspirators. What if . . .

The stalemate at last drove Admiral La Ramee to action. "As Lord Mortimer has said, Miss Kigiku, your offer is very generous. But what service can you and your kin serve in battle . . ."

"No. We can use this." Mortimer interrupted.

"Lord Mortimer!" La Ramee began to protest.

Turning back to the waiting Pixie. "Miss Kigiku, you speak for all of your sisters here?"

"As Eldest Knight." She swore.

"If we accept your offer, can I be assured of your obedience? You will have to obey orders to the letter and accept the responsibility of soldiers." But if this worked . . .

The small knight answered wordlessly, placing a fist to her chest, and giving a small bow, wings fluttering in sympathy. "For our Mother, to our dying breath, Mortimer-sama."

Mortimer nodded slowly, sharing a look briefly with Lydia. His chief guard looked far from certain, but also, far from stopping him.

"I make no promises, but I would like to tentatively accept your offer." Lord Mortimer said with growing confidence. He could see the possibilities unfolding before his eyes. He turned to general Gramont and Admiral La Ramee.

"Gentleman, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Quite lad!" General Gramont declared before assuming a serious posture. "But, all this talk about uniforms we were just having. I have to ask. Where are we supposed to get over a thousand tiny pairs of panties.?" Said in all seriousness and without a hint of humor.

The four hundred odd collected Pixies stared on in complete silence.

Mortimer reached up to rub his temples slowly, he was just about to say something when Eren silenced him. "No no, Lord Mortimer." La Ramee turned to the still quite contemplative General Gramont. "Let him have this. It is just how his mind works."


	4. Chapter 1 Part 1 Black Crow, White Swan

_Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 1 - Part 1 _

_The Coronation of Queen Henrietta I of Tristania would go down in the history of her Kingdom, one of the many peculiarities of her reign and typical of her personality and leadership. _

_The Crown had not been vocal about the event, hunting down the last of the conspirators and dragging them back to Tristania to stand trial had demanded the full attention of the Monarch to be. _

_There hadn't been much fanfare beforehand either, that had all been wasted on the disastrous Gala a few weeks before. _

_No high foreign officials had been invited save members of the Royalist Government in exile. Relations with Germania were still rocky following the termination of the prior marriage alliance, and Gallia had remained silent on the affair, Pope Vittorio III of Romalia had, however, sent his full well wishes and prayors and a lavish gift of treasure as a show of good will, a token that had not gone without comment._

_The ceremony itself hadn't been anything ostentatious or showy. Nobody had wanted it that way, least of all the new Queen. Instead, it had instead been a simple affair by the standards of coronations, starting the young Queen's reign as she wished to rule, in simple and open devotion to her people. _

_A festival day had been called, and starting early in the morning the air over the Capital's markets had been filled with the smoke of roasting pits and bonfires, the start of a day of festivities for the commoners and petty nobility. _

_Church bells had been rung from every steeple and the Abby tower starting from dawn, and a squadron of Naval Cruisers had positioned themselves above the city to shower flower petals down on the Grand Promenade. _

_The Queen to be had ridden out from the Palace at the heart of a parade of her Royal Guards to the Chapel of Saint Reuben, to present herself before the assembled Nobility of the House of Peers, the Reigning Sovereign, her mother Queen Marianne, the High Cardinal of Tristain, Bishop Rubeis, and Lord of the Legal Collegiate._

_The last should have been Lord Justice Richmond, but the Lord Justice had been nowhere to be found in the past weeks, and as time had gone on and more evidence had been uncovered, Richmond had been found guilty of Treason and stripped of his title and authority for ties to the Reconquista movement. Though he had not been found, it had been assumed he had fled to Albion. _

_This had put the Legal Collegiate in a difficult position, but they were lawyers, and no strangers to turnover in the position of Lord Justice._

_The former Lord Justice had been replaced by a newly elected official, previously Sir Visbee of the Tristain Academia, now Lord Justice Visbee of the Legal Collegiate, a small and scholarly man, competent and well liked, who most importantly, in no way resembled the man he was replacing. An important thing in the politics of the day. _

_Princess Henrietta had arrived, garbed in a simple white gown and veil to represent purity, chastity, and first loyalty to her Kingdom. She had been escorted between the pews holding the congregated nobility by her Regent, Cardinal Mazarin dressed in full Religious Vestment as a representative of the Church of the Founder in Tristain. _

_Afterwards, many in the crowd had made comment about the closeness of the Queen and her regent, noting the fatherly care and the hesitation with which the Old Cardinal had stepped aside to allow the Princess to ascend the steps alone._

_Upon reaching the summit of the steps and the podium, Henrietta had been met by Bishop Rubeis, the elderly man pulling back her veil and marking out the cross of the founder upon her forehead in red wine to represent recognition of her descent from the blood of the Founder. _

_Lord Justice Visbee had come forward next to present the scepter to represent the new Queen's rule over all secular matters of her Kingdom. _

_And last, Queen Marianne had presented the Royal Crown to her daughter. By placing it on her daughter's head, Henrietta was recognized by the reigning sovereign as successor and rightful ruler._

_Three simple acts that encompassed the heart of the coronation._

_Henrietta had turned back to the congregation, comprised of Nobles from the highest Archduke down to members of the Knightly Orders, giving equal representation to opponents and allies alike. It had all been very official, very clean and well executed and formal._

_All save for one detail, the Fae. _

_There had been Faeries present in the parade. Gnomes and Leprechauns traveling on foot and horses. Salamanders, Sylphs and Cait Syth Dragoons overflying the Princess and her cohort alongside the Dragon Knights. Contingents of Undines, Imps, and the now famous Spriggan Free Company, the Kurotaka, had stood in parade formation at the doors of the Cathedral while a Puca band, expertly rehearsed, had played the Kingdom's national anthem from atop the Church Towers. _

_And not to be forgotten among the heads of the nobility, the two front benches, each seating twenty, nine of those forty places were taken by the gathered Faerie Lords in all of their finery. It was a display that was as impossible to miss as its message was clear to the anxious nobility. The Faeries were the Loyal Subjects of the Crown, Loyal Subjects would be rewarded. _

_It was as clear as the empty seats that peppered the benches. No one had bothered to further comment. It had been thought to do so would only bring suspicion and anger, if not from the Crown, than from those who were eager to affirm their own Loyalty._

_A short speech had been given, the ceremony had been concluded, and applause had wrung out, the Nobility making the appropriate noises and gestures before kneeling as one before their new Queen. _

_It had been said later that Queen Henrietta had looked distinctly unhappy while surveying the crowds, but that too had gone without comment. _

_What had been greatly commented on by all parties in the coming days, was the ceremony that had proceeded the next day as their Queen's first act as Sovereign on the parade Fields of the Champ de'Mars . . . _

* * *

Life, it occurred to Tsuboi Ryotaro, the swordsman Klein, was a hell of a thing.

"Please kneel." The dainty young woman standing above him on the steps of the Champ de Mars chapel instructed politely. Coming from her, it hardly seemed like an order at all.

After all, where else could he end up doing something as crazy as this?

But then again, Klein thought, he'd probably never be able to stop thinking of her as 'The Princess' who had wished them well on their journey all of those months ago. Naive, and sweet, and hopeful. The same Princess that had wished him luck when he'd headed off for Albion with his squad to join up with Kirito and Asuna. And also the Princess who had given her personal, heartfelt thanks while he was laid up in the infirmary recovering from the electric shishkebab delivered by the Viscount of Wardes.

Of course, today she was a bit more than a Princess, and she was doing a little bit more than just thanking him.

Klein offered his Katana hilt first to the Queen as he took to one knee and bowed his head. The soft sliding noise as the blade was pulled free and a pause as the young sovereign hefted the unfamiliar weapon.

Klein had the distinct impression that the silence was going on for longer than it should, and though he _really_ shouldn't have, the Salamander peaked up from the corner of one eye.

The Knights to either side of the Princess frowned. Maybe because Klein wasn't following the script, or maybe because Queen Henrietta had loosened the ceremony requirements.

Klein didn't know if he'd have gone through with this if he'd had to fast for a week or pray all night. It was tough enough just wearing the Dress Uniform of a Tristanian Chevalier, white trousers and jacket, with royal blue blouse, cavalry boots, and a cape that he was sure looked thoroughly ridiculous.

At least they weren't expected to dress like this on the battlefield.

Honestly, there were people who deserved this a lot more than him, but Mortimer hadn't been about to take no for an answer when he'd been recommended.

At last, the Young Queen, resplendent in blue and white gown, smiled apologetically. "So this is the sword with which you will protect the Kingdom?"

Klein opened his mouth, closed it, and then thought hard how to say it. "I'm sure gonna try." Remembering a moment later to add, "I mean . . . Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then bow your head." Henrietta instructed.

Klein did as he was told.

"And repeat after me."

Klein took a breath and followed along with each of the verses. It wasn't a lot to remember, just a few short lines. Luckily the buildup was a lot longer than the actual ceremony.

"I _Tsuboi Ryotaro Klein . . ." _

Klein didn't know who'd started that trend, but a full name was something that looked impressive and official to the locals, and the longer the better, so he'd decided to just roll with it.

" . . . _Do pledge my sword, my service, and my body to the Kingdom of Tristain and her rightful Sovereign." _

A ridiculous thought wormed into the back of his head. Would this nullify his Japanese citizenship? He didn't think so . . . Little late to check now.

"_I swear to myself to defend the Kingdom against its enemies in War and to remain vigilant in Peace."_

"_To uphold the Cardinal Virtues." _

_"To shelter and aid the weak and give alms to the poor." _

"_To obey my superiors and protect my subordinates." _

"_To uphold virtue and honor in battle and in peace."_

"_To if need be, fight ably and die valiantly." _

Klein _really_ hoped the last part wouldn't be necessary. Really, _really_ hoped it wouldn't be necessary. That would be really _great_.

But would he do it? He wondered privately, to himself.

Kind of a dumb question he decided. He'd set down this path all the way back in that other world, in the Town of Beginnings, first to protect his friends and get them out alive, and then again for all of the players, and now, all of the Fae. That hadn't changed, this just made it official.

He felt the flat of his blade resting on one shoulder and then the next as Henrietta finished.

"Then on this day, on the Third of Dri in the Year of Our Lord six thousand three hundred and forty one, I Henrietta I of Tristain hereby dub thee Sir Klein Ryotaro Tsuboi, Chevalier of Tristain, Knight of the Order Yggdrasil, sworn in service to the Kingdom of Tristain and the Faerie Court of ALfheim. Rise, Sir Klein."

Standing so that he was eye to eye with the Queen, it was damn hard not to grin as she returned his sword carefully, hilt first and Klein replaced it in the scabbard at his side.

Placing his fist to his chest, Klein bowed courteously as Captain Agnes had instructed him the night before during the rehearsal and turned to take his place with the rest of the newly Knighted who formed a rectangular formation of their own at the center of the parade grounds, surrounded on three sides by units of the Manticore, Griffin, and Dragon Knights.

It was only after he got back to his place that Klein realized what he'd just done and how significant it was. Probably the most significant commitment he'd made in his entire life. And weirdly, he didn't feel any different at all.

"Looking real chivalrous Klein." A sidewise whisper reached his ear from the woman beside him. "Guess a Knight is pretty much like a Samurai, right?"

The Salamander Knight glanced over to Caramella, Dame Caramella, or rather, Dame Caramella Naomi Anisette Foster of the Order of Yggdrasil Knights. They'd been ribbing partners from time to time in Aincrad, whenever the Army and Furinkanzen guilds had been blowing off steam at the same inn. Klein guessed now this made them comrades of a different sort.

Not that he minded too much. She was fun to be around most of the time, she was fun to argue with at least, definitely a good drinking partner. And she knew how to use a sword. Not to mention, he thought shamelessly, she looked pretty cute in uniform. It was sort of a shame they were batting for the same team.

"Yeah?" Klein whispered back. "Personally I think they must have made a mistake."

There were a few annoyed glances traded from either side, but their voices weren't going to carry far, even in the still and muggy air.

"How'd you figure?" Caramella asked.

"They let you in after all." Klein pointed out, receiving some very unladylike words in response.

Captain Gaius was up now, the Cait Syth Dragoon offering his spell-sword and kneeling before the Queen.

Klein supposed, that Caramella being close friends with a Crown Prince, and keeping the poor guy alive on more than one occasion, was just about right to receive recognition.

"Both of you, _quiet_." The silver haired Salamander woman standing in front of Klein instructed sharply. That dangerous tone was enough to shut them both up, leaving Klein alone with his own thoughts about how they'd ended up here.

Not here as in Tristain, as Faeries, even if they figured that one out, Klein was pretty sure he'd need a dozen degrees he'd never even heard of to understand the explanation.

Here, on the Parade Field of the Champ de'Mars training center, being Knighted by the Queen of a Country none of them had ever heard of three months ago. He could at least understand the answer to that one.

Tristain was going to War, and the Faeries were going with them. The important part about that was that the people in charge mattered, especially during a war. And in Tristain, those people were the Nobility.

Putting aside all of the Jokes, the title of Faerie Lord meant a lot now. There had been a lot of collective sighs of relief over the past couple of weeks as the first cycle of elections had ended with the Sylph, Salamander, and Cait Syth Lords winning reelection. That was because the Nine Lords were backed by Noble Titles.

In other words, it meant that there were Nine Nobles in the House of Peers who were Faeries. Or, that there were _only_ Nine Nobles in the House of Peers who were Faeries.

Those Noble titles let them throw their weight around with all of the Counts and Dukes, but they couldn't be everyplace at once. At the same time, the Defense Force volunteers needed to be able to stand equal with the Army and Navy Officers who were usually ranking Noblemen.

While every Faeries was recognized as a mage, and therefore a Noble, there were a lot of levels to Nobility.

And Queen Henrietta had just decided to promote a few of them up a few rungs on the ladder. Forty two of them to be exact. That was how many slots had been opened up in the newly formed order of Faerie Knights.

Klein tried not to think about it too hard. The politics tended to make his head spin. He wasn't dumb, he knew that partly the Queen was rewarding them for their service, and that partly she was sending a message to the rest of the Nobility.

Most had gone to defense Force Officers like Gaius, General Eugene, and Sergeant Carmond, and the Captains of Each of the City Watch units like Lydia. The few that had remained had been handed out for distinguished service, which had been how he and Caramella had been selected. Him, Caramella, and . . .

"Step forward," Queen Henrietta's voice rang out loud and clear across the field, "Kirigaya Kazuto Kirito, Kirigaya Yuuki Asuna . . ."

He wasn't supposed to turn his head, but Klein did anyways, catching just a glimpse as they approached together, short black hair and long chestnut.. He only realized he was holding his breath when he heard Caramella snicker.

"He looks awful in white."

Klein coughed to save himself from laughing out loud. That was the truth. Approaching side by side with Asuna, the pure colors that complimented the young Maeve woman so well were the same ones that made the ash skinned Spriggan look like a walking corpse, all the while, trying to sink further into his uniform and out of sight.

So there really was a reason Kirito preferred black. Maybe this was what Argo had meant about Kirito's super secret KOB equipment.

Meanwhile, Asuna was . . . Well . . .

It was easy for him to tell, the way she walked, the set of her shoulders and gaze. That was the Asuna who'd led the KoB, the entire Front Line, to victory after victory in their battle to free themselves from Aincrad. Right now, Asuna was once again the vice commander that had commanded the attention of everyone at raid meetings, radiating strength and poise like she'd been born a noble herself.

Though her uniform jacket had been modified to accommodate her wings, at the moment, she held them dispelled as she knelt alongside Kirito.

One thought came immediately to Klein's mind. "Is she going to be okay?" Klein asked to the air.

He was as thankful as anyone to have Asuna back, but at the same time, Kirito had been pretty worried about her. Asuna had fought harder than anyone to get them out, and now both of them were diving back in to a war that was going to be even harsher than SAO had ever been. How messed up was that?

"I don't think she can be okay without doing this." Caramella answered back, voice suddenly soft and sympathetic, not really like her at all. When Klein checked to be sure it was really her talking, there was worry shadowing her eyes. "We should know better than anyone." Klein's eyes widened. "Because . . ."

Princess Henrietta nearly dropped Kirito's Onyx Arbiter as the weight took her by surprise, but before her flanking Knights could take more than a step forward, she recovered and the ceremony continued, first reciting the Oath with Kirito and then turning to Asuna, drawing a slender rapier that caught the light of the sun.

Klein nodded, exhaling slowly. "Because we'd rather die next to someone, than let them die alone."

Asuna's voice carried all the way to the where they stood as she finished the oath and accepted back her sword. Only as the two turned, Sir Kirito Kazuto Kirigaya and Dame Asuna Yuuki Kirigaya, did Caramella add quietly.

"No more screwing around." The former Army player growled. "We're going keep everyone safe."

"Right." Klein said without looking away from either Kirito or Asuna.

They'd all come back alive. They'd make it their oath.


	5. Chapter 1 Part 2: Morning Morgiana

  
Halkegenia Online – v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 2

In the City of Arrun, on a side street that split from the busy thoroughfare leading up to the city Tower, there sat a modest townhouse with a tiled roof, fronted by a porch and small garden that looked out onto the pedestrian way.

A strong box, recently mounted to the iron fence had been inscribed with a house number and a family name that was growing to have quite a bit of meaning in the casual gossip and news of the Faeries of ALfheim.

-Kirigaya-  
As in the family name of the so called Black Swordsman, the Beater of Aincrad, and one of the Faeries who had defeated the Viscount of Wardes during the Newcastle Evacuation. Also the Surname of an up and coming Watch Lieutenant who had participated in the successful capture of conspirators on nine different occasions. And, as in the assumed surname of Asuna the White Flash, former leader of the Knights of Blood, the woman of the unique Maeve race who had saved Prince Wales Tudor more than once and who had also helped to slay the traitor Wardes.

That name had become a hot topic once again as it became public knowledge that the couple had been on the short list of Faeries honored to be promoted to Knighthood on the day of Queen Henrietta's coronation.

Curiosity, and more than a little interest whipped up by the newspapers, had drawn crowds of onlookers and passersby that had persisted for over a day before dying back down to the normal hum of rumors and gossip.

But for that time, the Kirigaya family had avoided their home, remaining in Tristania after the dubbing ceremony and then visiting in with friends in Orlein and Goibniu to wait for the sensationalism around the Faerie Knights to cool off.

Now that they were back, Kirito was just thankful that people had more interesting things to think about than the private lives of a couple of young people. Flying all over Tristain had kept them out of the limelight, but at the end of the day, it had also tired him out and left him stiff and hungry, and dreaming of his own bed.

An involuntary yawn netted him a gentle nudge from Asuna as the two hovered over the narrow bed and its lone occupant.

Lowering his arms from a stretch, Kirito's smile resumed.

All the flying had been tough on him and Asuna, but it had really worn out Yui who could no longer hitch rides in his pocket. The young Maeve hadn't even had the energy to change into her nightclothes on her own, Asuna had dressed her for bed before laying her down and tucking her in for the night.

The dark haired little girl's nose twitched and she turned over in bed, mumbling under her breath.

"Agh . . . giant . . . kumquat . . . look out . . . Tonkii-kun." Lips moved clumsily, slurring words as she hugged a pillow close to her chest and smiled.

Kumquat? Kirito wondered.

Yui had explained once that she needed to enter a standby state from time to time to carry out processing of buffered data and restructuring of her thought processes. It was possible that doing so would give rise to something like the human experience of dreaming. If so, he'd have to remember to ask if Yui remembered any Electric Sheep in the morning.

"It's like she doesn't even know she's in a dream." Asuna whispered in something between amusement and wonder. She'd been the one to accept Yui calling her 'Mama' all of those months ago, since then, she'd really started to grow into that roll, more than Kirito could ever have believed possible.

"Mmm . . . too much preserves . . . Aunt Silica . . . can't eat another bite . . ." Yui said as a little trickle of drool trailed down her cheek.

"She's cute when she's sleeping," Asuna tilted her head, "Just like her Papa."

"Yeah?"

Kirito didn't pay the teasing much mind as he reached out to pull the blanket over Yui's shoulders and dimmed the lamp on the nightstand down to nothing. The moonslight shinning in through the window was more than enough to see by, even without Night Vision, Asuna standing next to him, eyes closed, lips spread in a blissful smile.

If he'd asked a younger Kirigaya Kazuto, the Kazuto who had existed before Halkegenia, before ALO and the death game of Sword Art Online, what he expected in the future, Kirito suspected he would have been told simply about school and probably a vague ambition of ending up someplace in the tech industry.

He definitely wouldn't have had friends on his mind, or family. What would Kirito have told that other Kazuto if he had the chance?

Life didn't give people do overs, that was probably why it was so hard to not think about the impossible. He squeezed Asuna's hand, feeling the small increase in pressure as the gesture was returned.

Satisfied that Yui was fully asleep, the couple slipped out the door without making a sound, it would have been a shame to spoil their daughter's dream. Closing the door softly, both breathed a sigh of relief.

The house was locked up save for a few lamps downstairs and the last embers in the fireplace. Kirito took care of both while Asuna checked the second floor. He found her again in Suguha's room, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed beside his sleeping sister.

Suguha hardly stirred as the book she'd been reading was plucked from her hand and placed on her nightstand by Asuna. She'd already been asleep when they'd made it home.

"I'm glad she stayed here this time rather than sleeping at the barracks." Asuna said. "It's better to come home to a place that's being lived in."

"Un." Kirito nodded his head slightly, sinking down beside the bed.

She was really out like a light, he thought as he brushed Suguha's hair from her eyes. Kirito felt a little bit of regret. His sister had been working so hard lately that they'd barely had time to see each other except in passing. And now that time was going to get even more scarce.

Being Knighted wasn't just for show after all. They were going to be expected to train and be ready to go to war. To defend the Kingdom against enemies at home and abroad. That was the responsibility of Tristain's Knights.

But it was exactly because it was the responsibility of Knights that Kirito had agreed, reluctantly, to join the order of Yggdrasil. After all, what he could do as a single person was limited. It had been okay to be like that when it was only his life that he was betting by venturing out of the Safe Zones and into the various dungeons alone. In fact, he'd wanted it that way.

For the longest time it had seemed like it would be better to disappear alone someplace and some time where his mistakes wouldn't get anyone else killed. But that didn't work in Halkegenia. The danger didn't just wait in a dungeon to be taken care of by the Front Lines. Hope of anything like a peaceful life had disappeared even before the Galla, when the murders had started.

In reality, his ambitions were very small. To protect the people he cared about, and to survive. If he could just manage that for long enough, they'd find there way home. And if not . . . Then life would just have to go on here.

The world was too big though, for him to do even that much on his own. That was why he'd knelt before the Queen and taken the oath. And he was sure it was why Asuna had taken it beside him.

Coming to a decision, Kirito got to his knees and tenderly kissed Sugu on the forehead, wishing her goodnight. He adjusted the lamp down to a dim glow, just enough to see by, and then followed Asuna upstairs to the third floor and the master bedroom that they had come to share.

"Training starts next week." Kirito said, sitting on the bed while Asuna changed behind him, a blouse fell onto the bed beside him, followed by a skirt.

"Un." Asuna agreed. Rustling noises as she slipped her nightgown over her head. "We'll be in Tristania for a month to start with."

In that regard, the Faeries had a significant advantage over the Nobility who had to be trained from the ground up. They were already physically conditioned to the stresses of fighting and the motions of combat, unlike the human recruits who hadn't enjoyed any preparation save for sports and duels.

On the other hand, most of the Faerie volunteers had only recently been introduced to the harsh psychological realities of real combat, and especially to fighting against and as part of a large, organized force. Dunkirk had been the largest battle that any of them had ever been part of, and that had only consisted of a couple hundred Faeries divided between three separate operations.

Kirito hadn't been privileged to be part of Lord Mortimer's planning sessions, but he knew that there were proposed operations that would at least double that number, if not triple it.

Beside that. Only one in five of the Faerie volunteers had been involved in operation Dunkirk, most of the Self Defense Forces only had experience in fighting against mobs, not Halkegenian Mage soldiers.

They'd be training hard with the Tristanian Dragon Knights to make up for that. It would be a solid month of drills and mock battles mixed with lessons from experienced Faerie mages in the various magic disciplines.

The latter was where Kirito was really expecting to suffer despite putting in the time to learn the standard Utility spells and to add to his list of Illusion type magic. Barrier and ranged attack spells would be good to have too he thought. At very least he needed to get through the list of basic spells by the end of the first stage of training.

Kirto felt arms wrap around his shoulders, a faint whiff of perfume and cinnamon as a weight settled onto the bed behind him and then drew close.

"We're not going to have much time to ourselves." The Spriggan decided unhappily.

"We'll have a little. And we should have a few days between the training cycles, a week I think." Asuna answered. "So let's try to make the most of it when it comes."

"A month from now . . ." Kirito frowned. "We'll be in the middle of summer by then. Maybe the Lake won't be so freezing."

He was still regretting the dare he'd taken with Klein, ice cold, like a million little needles piercing his skin! And in the end, there hadn't even been a pay off. Not that Argo's information hadn't been good, someone else had simply braved the water before them to retrieve the chest they were looking for.

Whoever they'd been, they deserved it.

"So then, a beach trip . . ." Asuna sounded thoughtful.

Kirito craned his neck to look over his shoulder. "Is that a problem?" It was a little worrying when she said it like that and got that look in her eye.

Asuna shook her head quickly. "Actually, I think Yui-chan would love it. And a month should be enough time for everyone to plan for it. We can have a celebration for completing the first stage. Oh . . . is something wrong?"

"Not really." Kirito answered back, it was his turn to be lost in thought. "It's just that once we start the second phase . . . Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Asuna let her arms fall free so that Kirito could turn to face her. Legs folded up on the bed and leaning against one arm for support, her smile had faded a little. "It's going to be a lot like the Knights of Blood, I think."

Kirito nodded. Asuna's memories of her Guild weren't bad, but that didn't mean she'd been happy either.

Forty two Faeries had been Knighted by Queen Henrietta, a number that had been arrived at after considerable deliberation between the Fae Lords, the Nobility, and the Crown.

Lord Mortimer had wanted the number to be eighty one, in other words, nine Faeries of each established Race, but that number had eventually been paired down to forty two to appease the moderates in the House of Peers, those who continued to support their new Queen but were still nervous about the favor given to the Faeries.

Forty two had been settled upon as a solid initial number representing a full strength raid party, the largest formation that most of the Faeries were familiar with. General Eugene had received command of the Order of Yggdrasil Knights as field Commander of the Self Defense Forces, Asuna had accepted a position as his second in command where she would receive further tutelage under Lord Mortimer and his brother as well as their Tristanian allies.

As Knights, both of them would enjoy a status that was slightly elevated above their official rank. Kirito briefly paused as he digested the fact that he now _had_ a rank.

For instance, Asuna's authority as Sub Commander would be similar to an untitled Captain, and Kirito's own authority at the conclusion of their training would exceed that of a First Lieutenant.

But that also meant Asuna would be taking responsibility for the lives under her command and also, to an extent, the lives that they took. Kirito knew that Asuna was strong, but it was heavy burden to take upon herself once, much less to do it now for a third time.

"It'll be okay." She told him. "I hate it, but I'd hate it even more if I didn't do everything I could." She fell silent, turning around and pointing to the clothes laying on the bed. "I'm doing this for the right reasons. So I can live with myself."

It didn't take long for Kirito to get changed, and when he was finished, for Asuna to turn out the lights for bed. The Night Air of Arrun was deceptively silent as he lay awake in bed studying the ceiling and wondering silently if he hadn't made a mistake.

"Asuna?" He asked suddenly and to no reply. Right, she was probably already asleep.

He turned over, careful not to wake her, content to simply watch as she slept. No matter what happened, they were going to be fighting the same battles. They wouldn't always be side by side, but they would support each other. And with that, he gained a measure of peace.

That other Kazuto, the one from before SAO, would still be riddled with doubts. But for him, it was easy.

This was exactly where he wanted to be.

* * *

Among the former players of ALO, the Faeries of ALfheim, there was an unspoken acceptance a person's past life shouldn't bare on their future. Between the skills granted by the Transition and various coping mechanisms that had come to the forefront as people acclimated themselves, this had had been accepted as generally sound advice.

Case in point, Drake of the Kurotaka, previously a content employee sidelined on the track to upper management, and now both a Faerie of the Spriggan race and a genuine Soldier of Fortune, at least when he wasn't doing pretty much, irksomely, what he'd done at his old job.

"Where is she?" Drake growled as he charged through the double doors of the Kurotaka guildhall past a group of chattering Kurotaka archers and support mages who had nearly jumped out of their skin at the sight of their Second in Command in a decidedly pissed mood.

"Where's _who_, Darling?" The reply coming from high above his head, drake hissed a curse under his breath when he looked up to see Shirishi perched from the rafters.

"You know exactly who." The Spriggan Soldier of Fortune grunted out. And one more thing. "How the hell did you get up there?" Shirishi was strong, like just about every Faerie, but not to the point that she could vault five meters vertically.

Shirishi merely smiled and raised her left hand, filled with a ball full of swirling runes. In the space between heartbeats she went from 'there' to 'here' popping back into existence right in Drake's face.

Even seeing it coming, Drake's instincts twitched and he reached for his currently unavailable crossbow. Shirishi leaning forward with an amused smile that left the nearby Guild Members wondering how one hundred and sixty three centimeters of glamorous woman could somehow make one hundred and eighty one centimeters of gruff Spriggan fighter take a step back like that.

"So you learned a new trick." Drake grumbled.

"Transpositions are easy to get the hang of if you're far enough up the Dark Magic tree, Darling." Shirishi's lips twitched. "And it does come rather in handy. Now then, you're looking for our Fearless Leader I presume?"

Drake finally got some distance, straightening out his vest and gathering up his damaged calm, already severely strained. He'd think she was coming on to him if she didn't screw with everyone like that.

"Morgiana . . . Big Sis has some paperwork that's got to be signed off on. I left them for when she got back from Tristania."

Grain shipment manifests, specifically the amounts that were now moving up river towards Muisca where they would be filling up the newly erected granaries prior to winter. Two k-tonnes of wheat sounded like a lot, but split between four thousand people for winter, it didn't leave much wiggle room. And somehow, being a responsible man, Drake had ended up in charge of the books here in Arrun while Valdi kept things purring along in the Spriggan home city.

"I know she got in last night, but she still hasn't gotten them back to me." Drake fixed the Mistress of Dark Magic with a hard glare, met by her equally unyielding smile. "What gives?"

The two stood that way, like they always did. Why Shirishi defended her so much, Drake didn't think he'd ever know. The stalemate was broken by a passing Nori and Shime.

"Big Sis?" Nori hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Isn't she in her office?"

Drake glanced to Nori and then back to Shirishi who's smile had widened exponentially.

"Why do you do this?"

"You need to stop and smell the flowers, Darling." The Spriggan woman laughed lightly as she fell in beside him. "Do that, or you'll crack like an egg eventually."

"Says the woman who addresses everyone as 'Darling'." And spent her discretionary income, generated by being a living, arcane weapon system, mind, on expanding her already elaborate wardrobe to ludicrous proportions.

Though for once, she was dressed almost reasonably, Drake observed, something that could almost have been a business suit back home if not for the touches of fantasy, little things that were easy to overlook in a sea of fairy tale and historically inspired clothes, but blisteringly obvious when he thought back to Japan.

For one, no business woman would have worn a suit collared in black feathers, at least, not unless they were in the esoteric world of fashion design.

"You like it?" Shirishi ran a hand down the side of her suit jacket, two finger sliding along the seam of her knee length skirt. He had the distinct impression she was putting a little extra -oomph- into showing off today. "It's what I wore to the Coronation."

"Eh?" Drake looked over his shoulder. "How was it?" Not that he actually cared. Not his sort of gig.

One of them had to go with Morgiana, it didn't look good for someone as important as a Faerie Lord not to have an assistant with them. And Morgiana had been weird for the last week or so. Quieter, more serious. Drake would have been happy about the change if it wasn't so damn disconcerting. Given that she was acting out of character, having Shirishi go had made sense, she'd known Morgiana way back in the day when ALO had first launched. Which really wasn't that long ago but now felt like a lifetime, someone else's lifetime.

Shirishi crossed her arms beneath her chest. "About what I'd expected. Lots of worthless Nobles paying respects they didn't really mean and dressed in the most garish get ups. They can go rot in hell." She held her smile mercilessly and gave a small laugh. "The new Queen was lovely though, the gown complimented her perfectly I must say."

"And Morgiana?" Drake grunted.

"It's not just being a Spriggan, black becomes her I think . . ."

Drake glared. Not what he meant.

Shirishi grew a little more serious, her smile almost melancholic. "Best behavior during the ceremony, and afterwords. She was almost . . . _demure_ actually."

The Spriggans sure loved their 'Big Sis' on Cult of Personality but Drake suspected she'd give him a heart attack one of these days. But at least it wouldn't be today. Hopefully.

The Kurotaka Guild Building was pretty much what anyone would expect based on the Guild's size. Prior to the Transition, the Kurotaka had kept their main hall in Muisca, and that was still where over half of the Guild worked, now doing the much less glamorous jobs of City Security and mob patrol duty while the fighters who had volunteered for combat were based out of Arrun.

The hall reflected this, a medium sized, H-shaped structure in Arrun's Southern district with accommodations for around eighty people, which included all of the Kurotaka combat branch and Morgiana's attached staff, the people who allowed her to do her job as Faerie Lord.

Mostly, that job was to delegate to people who actually knew what they were doing, and use that force of personality of hers to keep the collective Spriggan population of screwballs and black sheep in line. Basically, the same job they'd done out of the charity of their hearts before the Transition, just that now, it put bread on the table.

The inside of the hall said a lot about the Guild's personality, wood framed construction, like a western style lodge. The entry room overlooked a two level common area that was crammed with tables, benches, and couches with no particular rhyme or reason, just whatever the members had thought they needed. Meals would be eaten there, either made in the Hall Kitchen or brought in from outside, mostly it was a place for drinking and having a good time at the end of the day.

The first floor of either wing was where the actual work got done. Offices on the East side, the armory and workshops in the west, with living quarters, recreation space, and the Guild Master's office on the Second Floor. Which was where Drake found himself, parting a Murder of Spriggans by terrifying force of will alone before throwing open the doors of Morgiana's rarely used inner sanctum.

It was obvious that it was rarely used because it was thoroughly generic. Standard, plush green rug. Standard two sofas facing each other across a coffee table. And standard, big oak desk in front of three giant, floor to ceiling windows.

Reclined in her chair, boots up on the table, Morgiana opened one gray eye.

"There you are!"

Morgiana tilted her head curiously. A whole host of heads were poking in from out in the hall, curious little crows waiting to see what was going to happen. At least until Shirishi closed and locked the door.

"Don't you know people are looking for you?" Damn it, did she take anything seriously? Fighting for sure, but life was about more than fighting. Planting hands on the desk, Drake leaned over, eyeing his boss suspiciously. "I've got a wagon load of forms I have to go through every day just to boil them down to that stack in your inbox and all I ask is that they be ready to be picked up the next day."

Shirishi tugged at his shirt. "Drake, Darling."

"And what do I get out of it? I mean, I probably deserve a medal, or at least a bonus, but no, nothing! And you know what, I really wouldn't mind if you'd just keep me abreast of developments." To be fair, she always got them in on time, it just always raised his blood pressure along the way.

Morgiana stared at him, numbly taking it in.

"Drake." Shirishi sighed a little bit louder as she examined the papers stacked in the outbox, particularly a small card sitting on top.

"I mean, it's not too much to ask for." Drake was over the hill now and his irritation was starting to ebb. "All I want is a little forewarning and professionalism here. The Salamanders mange to do it, the Sylphs Manage to do it, hell even the Cait Syth managed to do it! He squinted at Morgiana. "And why do you look completely stoned?"

Morgiana blinked rapidly, it was like watching an old PC crashing face first into a disc error. At which point Drake finally noticed the card that Shirishi had been trying to give him. A little piece of notepaper with a hand drawn Chibi Morgiana giving a victory sign.

_Hey, to whoever picks these up, if I'm not back yet, keep it quiet that I snuck out. I've got some super secret business to take care of. Just tell Drake I'm bushed or something and want to be left alone. -Big Sis_

"Snuck out?" Drake grimaced as he looked back up at the stupidly head tilting form of his boss, realizing for the first time that she'd barely moved since he'd walked through the door.

Morgiana turned her head to follow Shirishi as she walked around the desk, whispering a chant that gathered a ball of light in the palm of her left hand before slamming it firmly into their Guild Leader's forehead. Morgiana's office chair rocked as her form blurred and dispersed into black smoke, leaving nothing to mark its passage.

"Clever." Shirishi said. "She must not have gone far if her decoy could maintain itself like that." She looked over to a nearly apocalyptic Drake.

"Oh, don't be like that. They're all filled out see?" Shirishi held up one of the sheets, pointing to a small correction in red ink. "You forgot to carry a two."


	6. Chapter 1 Part 3: Mom

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 3

Perception made a difference, Sakuya knew this as empirical fact, an observation that held true through time and space. Depending on where one stood, one man's conqueror was another man's liberator. An enemy to one was friend to another.

The same was true of Mortimer, she supposed, as she followed her escort up the grand staircase to the Guild Master's office, without entourage today, thought she scarcely needed it for this.

She'd been in such a rush last time, so angry with the man. Weapons and armor were displayed along the walls, but that wasn't really any different than any other Marshal Guild Hall. And the paintings of battles that she'd passed so quickly before, she now took the time to note, were far from depictions glorifying war.

She had seen what she'd wanted to see, a monument to one man's over pumped ego and externalized sense of masculinity, and in doing so, she'd fallen into the same sort of delusional LARPing that she'd suspected of Mortimer.

The Lady of the Sylphs self consciously wrung the handle of the purse in her hands. There was no meeting scheduled for today, this was more a private matter . . . No, even in her head that sounded wrong. It was, she decided, better to call this a diplomatic visit.

Arriving once more at the towering doors of Lord Mortimer's Office, Lydia, now Dame Lydia, gave Sakuya a reprimanding glance. So, the Salamander Knight still didn't care for her? Sakuya couldn't fault her for that.

"Best behavior." Lydia warned and then rapped knuckles against the hardwood.

No answer but the soft turning of a lock, the doors opened inwards by a pair of guards on the far side, admitting Sakuya to Mortimer's inner sanctum and audience with the Salamander Lord Himself. Sakuya paused on the threshold.

Maybe it was the time of day, the light shinning down through the windows and skylights, or maybe her perception really had changed that much. But the office seemed lighter today, the tall, white walls, airier than she remember from the last time she'd been here.

Even the Jacques-Louis David painting didn't bother her so much now.

Mortimer had hardly looked up from his desk. The Salamander Lord too, had changed, seen through a different light. Face set and serious, posture slightly slouched. Less the cold tyrant that Sakuya had been imagining, and more of the overworked bureaucrat that he really was.

"Sakuya-san?" Mortimer looked up from his paper covered desk, rubbing at his eyes, tired, or maybe just surprised to see her here. His tone of voice didn't say, one way or the other. Either way, he was waiting for her to explain herself. Fair enough.

The Lady of the Sylphs waited for the doors to be closed behind her, the Guards retreating to wait outside. "Good afternoon, Mortimer-san. I hope you're recovery has gone well." Sakuya gave a small nod to Mortimer's posture, particularly the small slouch which still favored the uninjured side of his ribs.

Mortimer waved her question off. "Any pain is lingering." He set her with a curious look, like she was a puzzle that had dropped in his lap. "May I inquire to the purpose of your visit? It isn't like you to just drop in."

"I was told you didn't have any outstanding engagements." Sakuya said carefully. "I wished to have a moment of your time, to see if you would be free to meet this evening."

Mortimer frowned. "There's a brief conference with General Gramont, but that's to be done by Moonlight Mirror, so after sunset. Why? Wouldn't a message have sufficed?"

Perhaps it could have, Sakuya thought, but she'd rather face her own mistakes than hide behind someone else. It felt wrong not to accept some of the blame for the mess they were still cleaning up. Ephi's betrayal in particular, had come as a stinging blow against the reputation of the Fae, only counterbalanced by the tireless diplomatic efforts put forward by the Lords.

"I didn't feel it warranted an official dispatch." Sakuya said as she set the purse down on the table and opened its top. She reached inside to extract the bag's sole contents, a dark bottle that shone a rich, deep ruby red when it caught a beam of sunlight.

Mortimer's eyes narrowed. "That's . . . "The Salamander's brows crept up and he half rose from his chair to examine it for himself.

Sakuya placed the bottle on the desk, the glass making the smallest noise. "Alicia happens to be a real connoisseur." She'd had to spend her spare Yuld on something back when ALO was a game, and that something had been a fully stocked cellar comprised of some very fine, and now very alcoholic wines and brandies. "And, it just so happens that . . . Novair wrung the secret out of your brother before . . . before he passed." That had been something she'd learned from her deceased secretary's notes.

It had been those last thoughts that had inspired this gesture, small as it was. Maybe this wasn't really about her and Mortimer, maybe she just wanted it to have some meaning.

Mortimer put his pen down, it was the first time Sakuya could remember him looking unmistakably sympathetic. Funny, it really suited him.

"I think . . . I think he noticed the way I was treating you, even before I did." Sakuya explained. "And I think he wanted to see me put that to rest rather than letting it grow out of hand like it did."

Mortimer laced his finger on the desk in front of him. "It was hardly your fault, Sakuya-san." The Salamander Lord answered. "And you've already done more than enough . . . the help with the elections . . ."

"You didn't need it." Sakuya sighed. "Not really."

It had come to nobody's surprise, except maybe Mortimer's, that despite recent events, the reigning Salamander Lord had managed to once again win over a majority of the Citizens of Gaddan in the so called Crisis Management Elections that had been held in the wake of the Galla attack.

Sakuya had once heard Lydia mention that Mortimer had picked the Salamanders rather than the other way around, because he knew how to appeal to the mentality of the more aggressive players and bring them into line. Success in PvP had won him respect and the votes for Mortimer to rise to power, and seeing his aptitude extend to real life or death situations had convinced the Salamanders to vote for him again.

There had been a little competition, a few minor political figures on the Gaddan city council testing the waters, and some of the voters had no doubt cast their ballots to voice anonymous concerns about the direction their Leadership was taking. But the majority had come out in support.

When the dust had settled, Mortimer had come out with sixty two percent of the popular vote, with the next most popular candidate, the head of the Gaddan trade and commerce association garnering twenty three percent thanks to well voiced concerns over Mortimer's ill advised secrecy which had played right into the hands of the Traitors.

It didn't hurt that word had gotten out about the severe injuries that Mortimer had sustained during the attempt on his life, or the efforts he had gone to in order to route the hidden conspiracy base beneath the Capital, which had been further helped along by a favorable spin owed to Alicia by a certain reporter.

Normally Sakuya would have been offended by the sensationalism, but the truth was, it wasn't far off from how things had really happened.

"Consider it an election gift if you like." Sakuya said. "Drinking is something that should be done with company. This evening perhaps?"

Mortimer had picked the bottle off the table, turning it to read the label fondly. "That Lackadaisical Cat has good taste," he murmured, reclining back in his chair as he began to answer and then stopped. "It's very generous . . ."

Sakuya arched a slender eyebrow. "But?"

"I don't drink." Mortimer explained, and then elaborated at Sakuya's frown. "Not anymore . . . Now that it's real." The words almost spilled out, as if it was an embarrassing secret.. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. "I didn't have the best habits in that other world. I don't feel like making them over again here. I apologize."

Of course he wouldn't. Sakuya sighed softly. Go figure that this would be a waste of time and effort. She said as much, and was about to take the bottle back when Mortimer spoke up again.

"Though perhaps . . ." He rubbed at his temples. " . . . Perhaps socially. I can't see the harm in one glass." He tilted his head. "I assume you'd prefer it to be at your offices?"

"After hours." Sakuya agreed. "The view of the city is beautiful at night."

Sakuya glanced around the rest of the office, realizing that she'd never had the chance to take the space in. More bookshelves than she'd noticed the first time she was here. And the map table was definitely a new addition. Her eyes came to rest over the back wall, particularly, a painting hanging over the doors.

Had that been there before?

"Paul Delaroche." Sakuya commented. "I'm actually a little surprised you would hang that in your office."

"Pardon?" Mortimer glanced up to see what Sakuya was looking at. "Is it really that strange?" Mortimer asked.

Sakuya gave a graceful shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe not, but is there a particular reason you'd choose to look at that painting all day? Wouldn't you prefer the one behind you? Or are you trying to send a message?"

She was fairly sure that his small cough had been Mortimer's best impression of a chuckle. "You mean am I being self deprecating by looking at Delaroche rather than David? Delaroche had a rather favorable impression of Bonaparte by his own admission, it doesn't detract from his achievement in the least. The truth is," Mortimer shrugged nonchalantly, "I simply like Delaroche more than David."

"Oh?" Sakuya looked on curiously.

It was a welcome surprise, she realized. A study of France really couldn't overlook the Napoleonic wars and be called complete. She supposed that was true for military history as well. "I think we may have just found this evening's conversation topic."

"I look forward to it." Mortimer nodded slowly and gave what might almost have been a smile, interrupted by another knock at the chamber door.

"I thought you said you didn't have any meetings?" Sakuya traded looks with an equally mystified Mortimer.

"Nothing planned." His lips twitched. "Then again, it seems like I've been receiving nothing but surprises recently. Pixies come to mind."

Sakuya would have rolled her eyes at any other time, but she really didn't know what else to say.

Spending time with Hinagiku and the other Shamans had been surprisingly informative, the small lives were virtual founts of information about the game Lore of ALO, and the more Sakuya had listened and learned, the more she'd realized that it would be a disservice to treat them as merely children.

The Pixies were physically weak, but they were far from helpless, and even further from standing idly could could she have stopped them if they were intent on protecting their homes, short of destroying them herself?

Sakuya felt no small measure of guilt, like she was handing the problem off to someone else by sending the diminutive Faeries to speak with Mortimer, but she'd also trusted that in the end, he was the best person to handle the battle inclined Vespid Knights.

"We're going to have to have a talk about that as well, Sakuya-san." Mortimer said humorlessly. "It was quite the surprise at the Headquarters Building". Then, before she could say a word, Mortimer raised his voice. "Enter."

The doors didn't so much swing open as -boom-, bringing with them the impression of someone tall, dark, and stunning parting the guards and aids like an icebreaker. The Lady of the Spriggans couldn't have been mistaken for anyone else, and it certainly was her personality to arrive unannounced. Barging in certainly wouldn't have been unheard of either.

But the Morgiana that had just let herself in, lacked a certain something, she looked almost anxious. Sakuya looked on, mystified, Mortimer actually got up from his seat.

"I tried to stop her on her way in!" Lydia shouted as she chased after the Spriggan Lord. "She just came straight here and won't say . . ."

Morgiana put a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder and promptly turned her around and towards the door. "Okay, thanks for the help getting here, I got this, bye bye."

"Lady Morgiana!" Lydia spun back around and reached for the Spriggan Lord's black half-cape.

"That's enough." Mortimer instructed sternly. "Both of you!"

The two Faerie women looked between themselves and the Salamander Lord, Morgiana seeming almost sheepish. "Sorry, sorry . . ." Morgiana breathed quickly. " . .. Look I just really need to talk with you . . . _both_ of you." She glanced over her shoulder. "You know . . . in private."

Something was out of place, Sakuya thought, something that she did not notice at first, the way that Morgiana was clenching and un-clenching her fists. She'd been this way at the coronation, the receptions afterward too.

Sakuya hadn't payed it much mind at that time, but it was especially odd given that the Spriggan Lord played almost as good a poker face as Mortimer. She traded a look with Mortimer and then back to Morgiana.

"It seems a little rude to ask something of a guest in someone's house." Sakuya observed. So much for this being Mortimer's problem. "But I suppose it can't be helped. How did you even know we were both here?" She'd meant to make this a short excursion over lunch.

"Oh that?" Morgiana chuckled weakly. "The twerp with the bowl cut out front caved like a house of cards. You should have seen him stammering." The recollection almost had Morgiana looking like her old self.

Sakuya supposed that would be Recon's disposition. The boy was a hard worker, and smarter than he gave himself credit for. Now if only he'd work on his hangups with women . . .

Mortimer gave Sakuya a cold glance, they exchanged nods. It couldn't be helped. "Lydia."

"Sir?"

"If you would please see to it, Captain."

Lydia looked reluctant to leave, but Sakuya had never known her to disobey an order. Discipline and decorum were as much a part of the Knight's persona as personal grace was part of Sakuya's. With a small bow and a "My Lord", Lydia turned smartly on her heel and marched from the room, giving a last glance to Sakuya that seemed to say something like 'You are the lesser of two evils in this room.'

Once the doors were again safely closed, Mortimer took to his seat. He didn't do anything as simple as ask Morgiana what she was here for. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he stared.

Morgiana fidgeted.

Seeing that even at his best, the Salamander was still only slightly more emotive than a rock, Mortimer could convey a lot with his stares. This one was simply asking the question that he had neglected to speak.

The Spriggan woman began to pace to and fro like a caged animal.

Sakuya could see the pressure building up. Now that she was here, Morgiana really didn't seem to know what to do with herself. It just built up, and up, and up until . . . well . . . -pop-

Stopping dead in her tracks, the Spriggan turned to face Mortimer's desk. "I'm late." The words faded slowly from the air.

Sakuya was fairly sure that they'd only been spoken, but it felt like they'd been shouted. The Sylph felt the blood draining from her already pale cheeks. Whatever she'd been imagining . . . this was worse . . .

"Then you should hurry and tell us what you're here for." Mortimer sighed as he started to riff through the paper's on his desk, somehow oblivious. "I wouldn't want to keep your from a prior engage . . . " It had clicked for him too " . . . ment."

So that was what Mortimer looked like when he blanched. Sakuya thought.

Morgiana simply stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed thin. "Pretty sure I can't miss this one."

Sakuya was the first to recover, taking a calming breath. It didn't make her first question any more helpful. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Morgiana nodded her head sarcastically. "Pretty sure! The Doctors think so too, so it's not just me freaking out."

Sakuya bit her lip, a million scenarios were flooding through her mind, none of them particularly good. Morgiana wasn't the first, and it was very, very unlikely that she'd be the last. That was natural, that was biology. But most had been staying very quiet about it for obvious reasons, and for a Faerie Lord, it could spell disaster.

Because for all that the political figures of Tristain knew, the Lady of the Spriggans was unwed, and now with child. The backlash would be monumental, and just as they were riding out the aftermath of the Galla. They did not need this right now!

"It's sort of why I thought I should talk to you." The Spriggan woman muttered as she flopped down on a sofa. "You're the big political strategist."

The Sylph groaned as she put a hand over her eyes. At least tell me you know who the father is." Sakuya spun around, eyes growing wide. "You do know who the father is, right?"

"Come on, Sakuya-chan." Morgiana laughed bitterly. "You really think I just let anyone get in my panties?" Her eyes flashed between her fellow Lords. "Okay . . . don't answer that. But that's the other reason I'm here." She tilted her head towards Mortimer.

"Oh?" Mortimer's frown deepened, and then slowly melted away. "Oh. Oh no . . . You didn't."

She wouldn't. Sakuya prayed. She couldn't. She could and she had.

"Eugene?" Sakuya bit out shortly. "You slept with Eugene." Sakuya knew she was raising her voice, and she didn't care, looming over the sitting Spriggan woman like a child receiving reprimand. "What were you thinking?!"

Morgiana chuckled nervously. "Well, you know how it is. I've always had a thing for washboard abs . . . And I'm a _big_ girl." She babbled on almost hysterically. "And that thing they say about Salamanders? Totally true!"

"Morgiana!" Sakuya admonished ruthlessly. Not only was it grossly inappropriate, it was outright disturbing, peering into those dark gray eyes and seeing a terrified woman who didn't know how to stop being her larger than life persona, even as that identity shook apart around her.

But she did stop, licking her lips, and then in a small voice. "Hey . . . Hey Sakuya . . . what the hell am I supposed to do?" Morgiana shivered as she pulled her arms around herself. "Shit . . . shit . . . It's actually happening, isn't it? Shit."

Silence between the two women, it stretched on for much too long until strangest of all, Mortimer was the one to speak."

"What is it that you want to do, Morgiana?" The Salamander asked quietly.

Morgiana looked at him, confused and a little scared, not at all her normal self. "I mean to say . . ." Mortimer explained slowly,"Have you and Eugene thought about this child's future? Or . . ." He stopped as Morgiana looked away, ashamed.

"You haven't told him yet." Sakuya concluded. No wonder she was scared senseless.

Foolish, stupid! And already doing all the punishing to herself, Sakuya realized. Screaming at her wasn't going to help anyone.

Sitting down on the couch beside Morgiana, Sakuya draped on arm over the taller woman's shoulders and squeezed gently. "Can you tell how far along you are? When you probably conceived?" That would give them an idea at least, how much time before she started to show.

Morgiana shifted slowly. "It was . . . it was about two months ago . . . " She placed a hand to her stomach. "We only slept together the one time, after Dunkirk. It was sort of an accident." Morgiana bit her lip. "We were drunk, and our blood was still hot. I just found out a week ago."

"And we're the first people you've told?" Sakuya asked. "Why? What about Drake, or Shirishi?" Both of the Kurotaka co-leaders were close to their Guild Master, she could have trusted them with this. Why weren't they with her now?

Morgiana shook her head slowly, pleading look in her eyes. "You think I can tell them when I'm like this?" Morgiana waved to herself. "I've been getting by being 'Big Sis' to them. I know that, I'm good at it. I don't know how to be . . . to be . . . Mom." She raised her arms, shook her head, and then just let go

Sakuya's mind turned over the details, the more she thought about it, the worse it looked, and the more inevitable. "Mortimer." Sakuya breathed slowly. "You better send a dispatch for your brother. He's in Gaddan right now, isn't he?" Overseeing the marshaling of the Salamander volunteers.

Mortimer nodded slowly. "I'll assign a courier. And leave instructions for him to open it in private." They could trust their Darkness Mages with almost any secret, except maybe this. This simply dripped of the potential for gossip, and if it got beyond this room, it _would_ get out.

"No." Morgiana interrupted. "Just tell him to get back here. I should . . . I should be the one to tell him."

Then they'd have to get started on damage control, Sakuya thought. And depending on how things went . . . She didn't want to say it out loud, not with Morgiana like this. Arrangements were going to have to be made.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Mortimer lifting the bottle she'd left on the table. "Sakuya-san, I'd appreciate it if you asked Rue-san if she has anymore of this." He sounded devilishly tired. "I have a sinking feeling we're going to need it."


	7. Chapter 1 Part 4:Best Laid Plans of Cats

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 1 – Part 4

The City of La Rochelle, the High Port, situated atop the peaks of a mountain sharing the same name, one of the largest sky ports on the continent thanks to dint of location and the gargantuan Yggdrasil Oak that had sunk its roots deep into the living stone of the mountain top at its heart, and even now in the midst of war, the Gateway to Albion.

People said that last part like it was a dirty word, the Royal families of the continent weren't fond to count one less among their number, but the Nobility still coveted the wealth that flowed, reduced, from trade with the White Isle, and were willing to cross the Church to get it, under the table of course.

Because in the end, Albion still had something that everyone wanted, and so long as that was true, the shipments would always make port, the wheels of commerce would turn, the Nobility would grow rich, and the roots of La Rochelle would remain as vibrant as ever, soaked in a rain of gold, the streets crammed full of travelers, merchants, and mercenaries, all migrating inwards, toward the Harbor Tree and riches.

Frankly that suited her just fine, the slight, green haired shadow thought. The fatter the pigs got, the better for her when she poached them. She slipped through the crowds swarming the streets, one face lost among countless many. That suited her just fine too.

None would have recognized her, though they'd most certainly heard of her. There was a certain celebrity that grew up around someone when they stole from the treasures of the Nobility and flaunted it so well. For instance, like the Nobility of Tristain who had grown prosperous from nearly two decades of peace, and then grown corrupt and greedy on top of it.

The same corruption and greed, the same _selfishness _that had taken away the life and title she was born to. Matilda hadn't felt an ounce of pity as she'd bled them of their wealth. Family heirlooms, precious gems, magical artifacts, whatever her customers desired.

If they could dream of it and uncover its location, she could retrieve it. There wasn't a chest, safe, or fortress that could keep her out once she decided she wanted in. In the end, her victims were a little poorer, she was a little richer, and the rest of the world was much the same.

Business had been good. Until recently anyways.

Which was why she was here now instead of still playing secretary with that Dirty Old Man while trying to get her hands on the blasted Staff of Destruction. Not that it mattered now, not that any of it mattered.

Foquet the Crumbling Earth, Miss Longueville, Matilda ex-Lady of Saxe-Gotha, whoever and whatever she needed to be really, mused darkly.

The world was fast changing, and what the Customers wanted one day was not what they wanted the next. And if what the Customers wanted happened to be in the lightly guarded homes, and somewhat more than lightly guarded Guild Halls of the Fae, interesting magical trinkets valued as much for novelty as power, rather than well fortified vaults, well then, Foquet wasn't one to argue with the Customers' tastes.

She barely needed to pay attention to where she was going, years at her trade had taught her to be light and nimble on her feet, and to navigate as much by feel and instinct as by sight and thought. Besides, she'd moved through this port many times before, she knew the streets like a well worn glove.

So a slender and delicate looking woman of decidedly Noble countenance threading through the crowds might draw an eye or two, it would go mostly without comment in a city like this.

And if it did go with comment, the commentator would discover that delicate looking Noblewomen were not nearly as fragile or harmless as they appeared.

She was getting close to the Port now, her destination, the long branches of the Yggdrasil Oak stretched overhead, once the largest living thing in all of Halkegenia, and now barely a footnote in the shadow of the 'True' Yggdrasil that grew up within the borders of Tristain.

It was that World Tree, or rather, its attached hangers on, that had changed things so suddenly and so radically. Some for the better, maybe, and others decidedly for the worse.

"Pard'n Miss."

A tall and broad shouldered porter brushed past her on the left, the jingle of coin in his purse, and the look of a drunk in his eyes. She let him pass with barely a second glance, far from being a mark, he was just another of the countless laborers that serviced the Port every day, the take would be small and cause him and his more hurt than it would ever do her or hers good.

Useless now anyways, it wasn't as if she was short of money in these interesting times. Faeries made as good of marks as Nobles, much too trusting with their money and with their treasured artifacts, some of which sold quite nicely on the black markets.

And the Thief Foquet _had _been short of work recently, or rather, indisposed while she'd lain low under her assumed identity of Miss Longueville and observed the Faerie City of Arrun under the auspice of her employer.

With her cover as secretary to the distinguished, and perverted, Headmaster of the Academy of Magic, it had been almost too easy to simply wander into the Faerie City whenever she pleased and leave none the wiser.

In fact, once she'd been inside, it had been harder to drag herself out. The sights, the sounds, the scents. Wonder stacked upon wonder, all of it new, and interesting, and exciting. And valuable. The Faeries didn't even know what they had, which made it all the easier, like taking from children.

Matilda's smile faded ever so slightly at that thought. She wasn't exactly _proud_ of stealing from the Fae. It was an accomplishment, and she took professional satisfaction that she could worm her way through the safes and woefully inadequate magic defenses she'd found in the less guarded of the Faerie Halls.

The defenses of wealthier Guilds and the government buildings had suddenly shown signs of being brought up to snuff, proof that the Fae, while innocent as a race, were no fools.

In fact, the more time she'd spent among the sometimes cordial, always eccentric, magical beings who had suddenly sprung into existence one early Spring morning, the more she'd come to like them. They were mages, of course, even nobility by the standards of Tristain which counted every mage a Noble. But they hardly acted the part of Nobility.

But it might as well be fair trade for the danger they'd imposed, even unintentionally, upon her precious family.

Since the death of the Archduke of Albion, since the death of her own Father, and Mother, and everyone else that she held dear, there had only be Tiffania and the children that they had sheltered together.

Tiffania who had never harmed a soul in her life.

Tiffania whose existence was the reason their families had been murdered.

Tiffania who would be consigned to death for being born of her Elven mother and Royal father.

Matilda gritted her teeth. It was a fate she could not abide for her adopted sister.

After the murder of the Archduke at the orders of his own brother, King James, after the murder of her own father at the hands of the same. Matilda still couldn't remember it clearly, she recalled being put to bed, and then, suddenly, running through the forests, panting for breath and covered in dirt and blood, dragging a tiny little blonde girl by the hand as she clutched a child's wand in a balled fist, crying her tears to an uncaring world.

That was enough to make Matilda stop in the middle of the street and squint. She raised a hand to her temple and rubbed slowly. In all the intervening years, she had never been able to recall what had happened between being put to bed by her mother and father and winding up in the forests outside Saxe-Gotha, the burning estates at her back. Only knowing that everyone was dead and that she had to run or she would be killed too.

Maybe it was a blessing, the one time the Founder had intervened on her behalf.

They had fled that awful place. Deeper and deeper into the darkness, guided only by memory and her father's instructions, well ingrained, that they would find safety in the forests that had once been said to be the ancient home of Faeries.

Their refuge had been more tangible than Children's stories, a safe house arranged for the Archduke by Matilda's father, meant to safely hide his daughter and mistress if something were to happen to him.

The house had been well-hidden, and well provisioned, enough food, and water, and firewood, to keep them alive through a bitter winter spent huddled close, terrified that the people who had killed their families would return.

But they did not return, nor dare venture deep in the forest.

Her father, in his last act of loyalty, had saved the lives of both of them. And their shared loss had made them sisters truer than blood.

When spring had come and their food had started to dwindle, it had been Matilda as the elder who'd had to strike out. She was old enough and had been tutored well enough that she could protect herself. And certainly Tiffania could never have dared to leave the safety of the forests.

They'd needed food, so Matilda had bought it, first with the money hidden away in the safe house, then begging when that ran out, and finally turning to theft to keep bread on the table.

She'd fallen in with pickpockets, with petty thieves, and then not so petty burglars. She'd learned from each in turn before moving on, how to break and enter, how to forge and how to seduce, how to pick locks, how to move unseen, all with and without magic.

In less than a year, she grew from an urchin to a fully graduated thief. The next year she was burgling the homes of the well to do, places she would once have been bowed and scraped to by men seeking her father's favor. The year after that, she'd raided the house of the Grand Barrister of Saxe-Gotha, the man who now ruled her family's former estates.

She'd stolen back a family heirloom, gifted to her Grandfather by the Tudor's, one of the ancient load stones that bore the runes of a treasure of Air. It had been an item of great pride to the family, a symbol of their status as trusted servants.

She'd sold it at once, and it had fed her and Tiffania, and the other mouths gathering in their haven.

Children, even younger than Tiffania, not even children, toddlers who had escaped the purges by simply being too young, infants born the winter after the murders. Between starvation and the elements, they were all that was left of the many families that had served both the Archduke and her own father. The last children born of destitute wives and daughters.

It had become Tiffania's responsibility to raise them as best she could while Matilda had grown bolder in her efforts to provide for them. Matilda's career had burst forth. The thief Foquet had been born and his mettle proven through theft after theft, each more extravagant and unexpected than the last.

It had all been for Tiff, Tiff and the children that were growing up more and more each time that Matilda had managed to visit.

And as for Tiffania, the half-Elf had grown tall and lovely, and still every bit as sweet and mild as she had been as a girl. Bitterly, Matilda had thought, so bitterly, if not for what she was, there would be no need for her sister to hide herself.

They'd never argued about it, never spoken a word, but it had been agreed for Tiffania to remain behind with the children, living where they could remain in peace. And Saxe-Gotha was peaceful at least.

Even in the midst of the Civil War the fighting had touched only lightly there, and the Faerie stories had given protection to Tiffania, myths and legends that the people had been inclined to believe rather than thinking the distant silhouette sometimes glimpsed at dawn or dusk was an elf.

Those stories had kept her sister safe. But now the Faeries were real, and the Old Wives tales that the Reconquista had been eager to dismiss before were suddenly starting to be looked at with new eyes.

One way or another, she had waited as long as she dared to learn what she could, Matilda knew, she had to get her sister out of Albion or she would be discovered. And what came after that wasn't worth thinking upon.

Of course, every problem contained the kernel of its own solution. This had dawned on Matilda as she'd been sitting with the Headmaster outside one of the Faerie Cafes, politely ignoring his complaints about the clever short pants that many of the Faerie women wore beneath their skirts. That was, when they didn't simply wear trousers like the men.

It had been a Sylph, of course, blonde as Tiffania and nearly as generously proportioned, arguing with a lime green haired member of her race. And it had been while looking upon them that she had begun to see the opportunity.

The Faeries looked like Elves. In other words, Elves looked like Faeries.

Tiffania would be hunted because of them. Now, her younger sister's salvation depended on them.

It had not been easy, of course not, nothing of this sort was ever easy. Arrangements needed to be made. She needed a fast ship. Preferably something small that could stay beneath the notice of both the Royal Navy and the blockading sky fleets of Romalia and Tristain, and Founder forbid the Faerie patrols!

And of course, a crew that could be trusted with a dangerous mission, and who would not ask too many questions. It would be better to return through Germania, so a Northern flagged vessel would be best.

That had left Matilda only to find a secluded place where Tiffania and the children could be moved, someplace close enough to the Faerie settlements to avoid suspicion from Tristain, but far enough that the Fae would not visit frequently. And most importantly, relatively safe from the mobs that infested the wilds.

The Port was a riot of activity, people of every nation and creed flocking around the cranes and hoists that ran through the branches to deliver cargo to and from the waiting ships. Dock hands shouted and jostled each other as the last ships for the day set ready to sail.

Such a place _did_ indeed exist, a pleasant little northern village that had made peace with the Small Lives, the forests there were safe, and if need be, Matilda was a fair enough hand to erect a stone cottage herself. Tiffania and the children would have a new home this winter, someplace hopefully far from danger. And maybe even safe enough for her sister to not fear the slightest sighting.

She'd already sent word ahead.

As Foquet, her illicit resources were not to be underestimated, even if those resources had been recently diminished in the wake of the new Queen of Tristain's aggressive house-cleaning. It seemed Henrietta took a little after her uncle.

Everything was falling into place.

But Matilda didn't let herself hope for too much. Not yet. In her experience, the Founder didn't share his love with her or her sister.

* * *

Akira Shirotaka, formerly a hacker in Alfheim online, amongst other places, and now 'Shiori', a trio of black clad assassin Cait Syth girls, clung grimly to the underside of a boat at night and tried not to be distracted by how nervous, upset and angry the rest of her were.

There wasn't room for distraction in a stealth run, and this was rather longer than any 'run' she'd ever tried before.

Even sneaking out of the Fae capital and then across the border into Gallia was nothing compared to this, and however nervy all of her were, and she wasn't quite sure if they were all one person or three people going in almost entirely the same direction yet, she was determined not to mess this up.

Not the least because now she could really die three times over.

Which meant there could be no mistakes, no chances given, no _mercy_.

The ship they were stowing away on was from Gallia, not flagged for transport, and certainly not publicly registered either, and a bit of careful spying had allowed her to determine, headed for Albion.

A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder after a moment, and she was careful not to relax into the reassurance, relaxation might cause her to 'let go' and that, they could not do...

Just now. In another hour, another two, the ships company above them would be largely asleep, and they could board, and spy, and prepare, and then wait and hide for another two days more. _This_ ship was no speedy vessel, neither a clipper nor a military bird, and it was running supplies to 'Reconquista'.

Her worked-steel climbing claws dug a bit more firmly into the ship's hull at the surge of hatred that thought caused, and a not insignificant part of her wondered what was _wrong_ with them these days, and sorted through possible causes. Being a girl and wondering if 'that time of the month' had finally caught up with them, being part beast and prone to not just the playful side of being a cat, being stuck in a real murderous world, having nightmares about the bandits they'd murdered, _being three people at once_ . . .

Probably all of the above.

It didn't matter.

Someone in 'Reconquista' had killed some of Asuna-sama's people and done _that_ to them.

Akira's little sister had been thirteen when she had been trapped in SAO, and she had never been a fighter there. People like Asuna and the Knights of Blood were the only reason Nanami was still alive, somewhere back there in that other world.

Which meant every single one of the ones responsible and anyone who helped them was going to die.

Even if Shiori had to murder them _one at a time_.

A savage smile spread across her lips at the thought, and she knew without looking that it was echoed by the other two of her.

Having six hands to wield blades with and the mage-staff slung across her back meant she very certainly didn't have to restrain herself to one at a time.

The _Brimir's Bounty_ would make landfall in Albion only after every member of her crew was dead, but that certainly did not mean its current cargo of gunpowder would never reach Reconquista at all.

Uncreative people appeared to think buff spells could only be applied to _people_, but Shiori thought otherwise.

Even if she was wrong, she couldn't possibly resist testing the theory, and there would never be a better opportunity.

* * *

Author's Note: Credit where credit is do, Shiori is the personal creation of the reader Gamlain who gave me permission to steal her for my story. Much thanks!


	8. Chapter 2 Part 1: Recrcuits

Author's Note: Well, this Chapter is at an awkward spot, it really doesn't fit with what's come before or immediately after, but bare with it.

* * *

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 2 - Part 1

The cliffs of Albion.

Said to any novice navigator, the words immediately elicited dread. The sheer cliffs of the White Isle were infamous for their treachery, the concealing mists, dazzling white surfaces, and the turbulent and oft unpredictable air streams that surrounded them transforming the coast of the floating continent into a lethal obstacle to approaching ships which frequently struggled at their altitude ceiling to rise over the dangerous rim.

Years of hard won experience went into the training of every Albionian Navigator so that they could negotiate around the edges and lead ships through the winds. Years more went into mastering the art of flying in Albion's shadow, a feat that could only be achieved by Royal Navigators. It had become a matter of Pride that only a real Albionian could master flying the coast and airspace of the White Isle.

Still, the cliffs had more than earned their reputation, demanding quick wits, sharp senses, a grasp of three dimensional navigation, and a clear head under pressure.

In short, it was the perfect appraisal grounds for Dragon Knights.

The air overhead shook, and a shadow flashed between the earth and the sun as the latest candidate and his mount dove through the finish marker hung between a pair of hot air balloons strung from the edge of the cliff.

"Nine out of twenty, time three minutes and twelve seconds." Miss Luttece said dispassionately as she adjusted her glasses and cast a sharp glance to Sir William Wells, acting Flight Leader of the Fourth Dragon Knight's squadron.

The two were situated at the top of a wooden observation tower that had been constructed overlooking the cliffs, giving a wide, almost vertigo inducing view of open airspace along the Isle's western coast. It was from here that they'd been watching the trials so far. And as it was, Wells had only one word for it.

Disappointing.

"Is that really the best showing a member of the seventeenth squadron can give?" Wells wondered. If that was the case, then the consolidated squadrons were going to be in dire shape in the coming operations. As it was they were going to be hard pressed to integrate the new squadron members, there would be no time to bring the new recruits up to the standards demanded by the Captain.

"I'm sure that Master Dunwell would say that one 'Gets what they pay for' in the aerial cavalry." Miss Luttece said quietly.

The Lieutenant cast an eye to the woman, Wells didn't know from where his Captain's secretary hailed from, but he was thankful to have her. A brilliant hand at paperwork, and she simply did not seem to tire, even as Sir Wells found himself ground under the work load.

More importantly, she had an uncanny knack for grasping Sir Dunwell's intentions, acting at times nearly as an extension of the Captain's will. During Sir Dunwell's recent absences, her council had grown ever more important, especially as they struggled to return the Squadron to flightworthiness.

Up until just two months ago, the Fourth Squadron had been known as an elite formation. Sir Dunwell had taken care in selecting each and every member of the unit to form a well coordinated force that was more than the sum of its parts.

Together, they'd seen some of the hardest fighting after the fall of Londinium, eliminating Royalist Dragon Knight formations that had been sent on missions to destroy food stocks and poison water supplies in the Southern regions, and they'd been on point for the capture of York. Through all of that, they'd lost only three of their numbers, two serious injuries, and one fatality.

It had been the best showing of the war, on either side, until the Faeries had arrived. That was when their luck had taken a turn.

Their numbers winnowed down by almost half in the following pursuit and run ins with that woman. Wells didn't know where the epitaph that was being passed around the barracks had come from, but 'Asuna the Lightning Flash' and her Knights of Blood had lived up to their reputation as told by the resurrected Faeries.

It had taken luck and numbers to bring her to ground, and it nearly hadn't worked even then.

'And just when we thought we had her, she conjured a demon from the depths of hell.' Wells thought calmly as he recalled the monster that had torn through the field fortifications outside of Newcastle.

With horrors like that at their enemy's side, it almost made abominations like Cromwell's . . . servants . . . tolerable. Almost.

In any case, the Faerie involvement had shaken up high command in the wake of the blunder at Newcastle. For generations, Albion had stood confident of its supremacy in the field of Aerial warfare. No Kingdom had ever contested the White Isle in the skies. Not until York and Newcastle.

The losses among the aerial cavalry had simply been gruesome. Of the six squadrons that had fought at New Castle and York, the combined attrition rate had exceeded thirty percent. Never in its history had Albion suffered such casualties in its home airspace.

The effectiveness of the Faeries had come as a shock to the field commanders of Albion's air forces and the stories that had trickled back to Londinium had the new 'Air Marshals' in an uproar.

Heads had rolled, some literally bouncing down the steps of Londinium Tower. One of those heads had nearly been that of Admiral Blake, but Lord Cromwell had seemingly taken a liking to him and extended his protection. Maybe the new master of Albion actually recognized competence, or maybe it was Cromwell's masters who had seen value in the former Supreme Commander of the Royal Navy.

Chaos was the order of the day, from the high offices on down to the various field commands. The mages and military minds at the Royal Arsenal had been set to work brainstorming countermeasures for the new threat presented by fast and agile Faerie skirmishers and their nearly inexhaustible bag of tricks.

In the meantime, units were being reordered as an expedient. The eighth and seventeenth squadrons of the aerial cavalry, which had taken the brunt of the losses, were being entirely cannibalized to bring the remaining formations back up to strength.

Meanwhile the ninth squadron had been disbanded and its survivors distributed to the remaining unblooded squadrons to spread around the firsthand experience in combating Faeries. The same had nearly been the fate of the Fourth Squadron until Sir Dunwell had managed to successfully argue for the unit's reconstitution.

The first step would be to restore moral and rebuild the Squadron's combat strength. But the success of that venture was entirely dependent on the quality of the recruits. Every cavalryman with a pair of stirrups would jump at the chance to join a respected formation, not all of them had what it took.

Targets were reset, hot air balloons were refired and let to drift up into the air where they swayed and twisted in the air stream. A horn call echoed across the edges of the cliffs, and to the north, in the near distance, a dark body cast itself from the heights of the cliff face and then spread wings wide into a fast swoop.

"Next one is up." Miss Luttece examined her clipboard. "Sir Jacob Meinhardt, Ensign, formerly of the Eighth Squadron. Line of Fire specializing in combustion type techniques. Survived the battle of Newcastle." The secretaries cold green eyes sparked. "He should be interesting."

"We'll see." Wells muttered as he observed for himself.

The man had daring, the Lieutenant would admit that much. As he watched, Dragon and Rider continued their dive until they reached terminal velocity, only then changing their flight regimen, wings catching on the morning thermals that drove them back up into the sky.

"He's missed the first four targets." Luttece observed with a hint of disapproval, ruby lips pressing thin.

"But he's gained himself speed." Wells offered with a small smile. "A Fire Drake isn't normally much on the wing, not compared to a Wind Dragon."

Sir Meinhardt pulled his dragon into a tight bank along the edge of the cliffs. Well trained too, it was clear in the fluidity of their combined motions, each reading the other perfectly. Drake trusting rider to point the way, and rider trusting drake to get them there, unlike some new recruits who tried to force the Dragon to fly exactly as they pleased. It left Meinhardt plenty free to concentrate his attention on the hanging clay targets.

"You're right, this one might be interesting." Wells decided.

Miss Luttece looked on, displeased.

The horn calls raced ahead of the Dragon Knight and his mount, as each was sounded, the balloon men released their charges into the air, each hung with a clay target swinging on the end of a rope.

Hitting the targets at speed would have been challenging enough in clear skies, doing so while the balloons and target was buffeted by the edge winds, and without being knocked into the abyss or dashed against the cliff face made the task nearly impossible. Which was the point.

"Fifth target." Miss Luttece reported as Sir Meinhardt approached the spinning balloon and the red clay bull's eye that hung below. These were smaller than the standard targets, less than half a mail across to account for the challenge of hitting a moving Faerie. Chances were that at that speed it would throw off his aim.

One moment the target was there, the next there was a -pop- as the clay was blown apart by a pinpoint heat lance. A horn call was raised by the balloon men to confirm a successful hit.

"Well, well." Wells felt his mood improving. This one had succeeded on his first attempt, even missing the first four by choice, that was impressive.

"Just luck." Miss Luttece insisted with an air of certainty that was shattered a moment later as the sixth, seventh, and eight targets were shattered with their accompanying trumpet calls.

Wells glanced over. "Luck was it?"

The secretary fell silent, burying her nose deeply in her clipboard and marking down notes with a piece of pencil. "Meinhardt . . . the name is of Germanian origin, is it not?"

Wells felt his brow rise. "What of it?"

"Merely an observation." Miss Luttece answered as they watched on in silence.

Nine and ten were taken together by a single well-timed lance. Wells would have given points for it if not for the fact that it had been a needless act of showmanship. Number eleven was missed as the fire mage overshot before recovered his momentum with twelves through seventeen, missing eighteen, and scoring on nineteen and twenty.

"Time?"

"Two minutes, forty seconds, fourteen out of twenty." Luttece adjust her spectacles again. "I suppose you'll want this one?"

"He's the best we've seen so far." Wells said, stroking his chin as drake and rider tightly circled around the finish marker before diving low for a landing.

"He's rash." Miss Luttece corrected. "Rashness shouldn't be rewarded so easily."

Leaning against the tower railing, Wells let out a low breath. "Maybe, but talent shouldn't be ignored either. Besides, all of the more senior candidates have been head hunted." The Central and Southern squadrons had been pulling in ever favor they had to get experienced Knights for their own air wings, leaving Wells to pick through the remainder. It was a good break to find a diamond in the ruff.

"He has quite the disciplinary history." The secretary added.

"That's something that can be fixed." Wells answered, most likely anyways. "Next?"

"Ensign Sir Richard Holland." Miss Luttece reported. "Formerly of the Eighth Squadron, recently recovered from injuries sustained as the battle of Newcastle. Pure wind mage of line class."

The horn called again, and the next drake dropped free at the beginning of the path. Dragon and rider were a far cry from the previous showing.

Sir Wells frowned and even Miss Luttece grimaced. Everything that Sir Meinhardt had done right about dragon riding, Sir Holland seemed devoted to doing wrong. Dragon bucking to and fro beneath him, the young Knight would have been thrown from his saddle if not for his straps. But he clung on, for dear life if nothing else.

First balloon up, a clean miss.

Second balloon, a hit, if Wells was being charitable, he'd at least managed to graze it.

Third balloon was a solid hit, as was forth.

"He'd make a fine Dullahan rider." Wells thought aloud. His aim was impressive at least, given that he'd managed partial success while being tossed all about like so. "What the blazes is he doing in the dragon Knights?"

"An elder brother is a member of the Second Squadron." Miss Luttece supplied. "Sir Holland was forwarded from the Dragoon Trainees to the Eighth Squadron three months ago. Prior to that, he was to be transferred to Ground Mage Cavalry, but with the short-handedness his request to serve in the aerial cavalry was approved."

Wells sighed. It wasn't the first time this problem had reared its ugly head, and it wouldn't be the last. "He wouldn't be half bad if he could fly straight."

"A temperamental mount." Miss Luttece shrugged again, voice growing displeased. "It's all that can be expected of a stupid lizard."

Wells quirked a brow. "Isn't that a little contemptuous of you?"

"Not at all?" Miss Luttece answered. "They are stupid lizards. The fact that a human can ride one that does not wish to be ridden proves that fact."

Very well, Wells decided. Her eccentricities aside, he wasn't about to argue the finer points of dragon riding with a woman who'd never taken the reigns herself.

Surprisingly, the young Ensign's aim proved not to be a fluke as his subsequent shots proved with each shattered target. Somehow he made it to the end without killing himself and the final tally was given. "Time, five minutes twelves seconds, targets hit seventeen out of twenty." Miss Luttece looked up from her clipboard. "I like him. He has potential."

"But is that what the Captain would say?" Wells looked down to where the other recruits were helping the boy from his mount. Once he was off, Sir Holland promptly began to wretch up his breakfast.

'Airsickness?'

This was the best that they could hope to gather, and now Sir Wells had the distinction of having to choose from among them. Best to get this over with quickly. "Those were the last of the candidates, weren't they? Let's . . ."

"One more." Miss Luttece contradicted, pointing back to the cliff face.

Wells' frown deepened. "What is this?" He reached to grab for Miss Luttece's clipboard. "There were only twenty on the list."

"Well then, this one was added late." The secretary yanked the board back from him, reading the name on the last sheet. "He's . . ." She stopped and reread the name several times, eyes narrowed unhappily.

"What is it this time?" Sir Wells wanted to ask, but before he had any chance to hear the reply, the horn was sounded again and the last candidate launched like a dart into the open sky.

Wells had only one thought on his mind as wings unfurled and he got his first impression of the last rider. 'He's fast.' Just riding a wind dragon like that wouldn't account for the speed alone, and he hadn't made to dive the way that Sir Meinhardt had.

Curious, Wells drew his wand and conjured up a lens to view from afar and got his first hint of what was happening. Crouched low in the saddle, head pressed against his mount's neck, the rider had his sword-wand drawn and pointed behind him, the metal surface glittering in refracted light. "Boosting his mount with magic."

Miss Luttece said tersely. "I presume you disapprove?"

"He can't attack like that." Sir Wells noted. And only the best bred Wind Dragons, like Sir Dunwell's Scirroco, could breathe fire. So. What was his plan?

Instead of replying, Miss Luttece simply went back to her clipboard. "First target."

The Wind Drake was on the approach now, moving fast and dangerously close to the cliff edge on a near straight path for the bullseye. 'Get too close and you'll get tangled.' Wells thought. 'Get tangled, and you'll die.' Or so he still thought as the distance closed, and closed, the rider sitting up in his seat and at the last moment reaching for something holstered at his side.

A silvered flash, the first target shattered as it was overtaken, the Wind Dragon barely slowing as it dove for targets two and three and shattered both at once.

"What was that?" Sir Wells squinted, and then understood, resting in his saddle, the rider had drawn a second sword, and as Wells watched, he crossed both blades before him in preparation to cast.

"Dual casting." Sir Wells concluded. "But only a line of wind?" Controlling more than one spell at a time was the sole domain of a seasoned square of the elements.

"It's not proper dual casting." Miss Luttece answered as she followed along at his side. "Channeling the spell through two foci, but not changing its nature between them. It's impressive, but not without precedent."

Targets four through nine suffered the same fates before target ten and eleven were missed as the rider overshot. Watching closely, Wells could see them fighting off the urge to double back. So, a perfectionist.

"How did I not hear of this one?" Sir Wells wanted to know.

"Seconded directly from the Dragoons." Miss Luttece answered.

Sir Wells scowled at that detail. "I thought it was made plain that we only wanted men with Experience ighting the Faeries?" They were hard enough pressed as it was without having to babysit the unblooded. That said . . . Targets fourteen and fifteen were destroyed at the same time . . . That sort of skill could be very easily polished, he'd be a fool to pass it up.

The final target was shattered, the completion horn was blown.

"Time, three minutes five second, seventeen out of twenty." Miss Luttece reported before looking up with green eyes. "Shall we retire to the castle to make the final selections?"

Wells looked down to where the last candidate was sliding from his mount, eagerly accepting pats on the back and flasks from the others as they congratulated him for his showing. The real sign of a wartime Squadron where the man who out flew you might save your life some day.

"No. I think I've already decided." Wells said simply. He couldn't fill the roster with the ones here, but at least six showed potential. He was glad he'd stayed to see it through to the end.

The climb down from the watch tower and the walk to the field gave Wells time to finalize the decisions in his mind. He requested the clipboard from Miss Luttece and began calling off names. "Sir Richard Meinhardt?"

For the first time he got a close look at the new recruits, one in particular standing half a head taller than the mousy haired boy beside him. Blonde, slender, and with an air of bravado about him. If Meinhardt was of Germanian stock, then the blood ran strong in him indeed.

"Sir!" The Ensign stood stock straight, watching with dark blue eyes as Wells stalked closer in the company of Miss Luttece. The other recruits were watching too, waiting to face judgment.

"You look pretty smug Sir Meinhardt." Sir Wells appraised the younger man. He spoke with some experience, smugness was the natural state of most cavalrymen, and Wells shamelessly knew he was no exception.

"Can't help myself, Sir." The Knight said with a perfectly straight expression. "Born this way, Sir."

Wells stared, Meinhardt kept his gaze level on the horizon. That was the way it was going to be. He could work with that. "It'll be fun breaking you Ensign, you're in."

"Aye Sir!" Meinhardt barked. "Thank you, Sir!"

"Sir Holland." Wells read the next name and found that it belonged to the mousy boy who'd been standing beside Meinhardt. Seeing him standing stock straight, trembling so softly that he looked like he'd fall over a in a stiff breeze, Sir Wells almost had to check again. "You are Sir Holland?"

"Y-yes Sir!" The boy barked, committing his fist to his chest. "Ensign Sir Richard Holland, Sir!"

"Well then . . ." Sir Wells almost resigned his decision, but appearances could be deceiving. "You're in too."

"S-Sir!" The boy's eyes widened. "Are you certain Sir? I mean I . . ."

"Are you questioning my decision, Ensign?" Sir Wells growled. Not that that boy shouldn't doubt himself, but best he got it through his head that a superior's orders were absolute. There would be no more hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"I'm honored Sir." Sir Holland bowed his head. "Simply surprised."

"Don't be." Sir Wells supplied coolly. "Your score was not terrible. More importantly, you made your best showing of potential back at Newcastle."

The mention of that ugly battle caused the boy to cringe. "Sir?"

"First, of the twenty members of the Eighth Squadron, you and Sir Meinhardt were both among the new recruits who faced Faeries first hand." Wells read over the report once more in his mind. Maybe he was giving the boy too much credit, but he'd learn fast or he'd wash out. "Second, of the ten trainees who engaged directly with the Faeries in Aerial battle, you and Sir Meinhardt are the only two who survived." Sir Wells gave the young man a solid pat on the shoulder as he went pale. "Welcome to the Fourth Squadron."

Now, where was . . . There.

He wasn't hard to find, still beside his dragon, gently stroking the monstrous beast's snout as he whispered comfortingly into the side of its neck.

"You." Sir Wells said, not caring how ridiculous it sounded to address a cavalryman as such, reading the name off the clipboard, he had a hard time making out the scrawled handwriting of whoever had completed the transfer form.

"Dragoon!" Wells used the common form for an un-knighted Air Cavalryman.

In any case, the problem was solved for him, the young man turning to look at Wells as he neared through the mulling crowd of recruits. First impressions, up close, he was not what Wells would have expected. He was pale for one, and small, features still soft and boyish. Raven hair cut short and feathered messily about his head. A pair of clear blue eyes met with Wells' own.

At his side, Sir Wells did not notice Miss Luttece coming to a halt, or the way her nostrils flared suspiciously as she eyed the young man. He was much too occupied with getting his blasted name.

"That was you on the last run, Aye?" Wells asked.

"Aye Sir." The boy said calmly.

"Seconding from the Dragoons." Sir Wells made special note of the cutlass style sword-wands hanging from their scabbards. Armsmen weapons used for the assault, an unusual style to say the least. Self-taught? He wondered. Again, it was impressive, but the lad would have been better served concentrating on a more conventional style. "So you think you have it in you?"

He'd expected a false show of confidence, or maybe even a little arrogance. Instead the young Dragoon simply stood at attention and replied with calm honesty. "I'd like to try Sir."

Wells gave him a hard look and then shrugged. They could use all the talent they could get. "Name? I can hardly induct you into the squadron without a name."

"Aye." The boy spoke with a sudden exhalation of breathe as if he hadn't been at all confident he'd be asked. "That one's easy Sir." He said in a thick Southern Albionian accent. "Name's Blair Trayvor, Sir."


	9. Chapter 2 Part 2: Politics of Pregnancy

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 2

Though it was a hollow comfort, Morgiana tried to tell herself that things could have been worse. Not much worse, but still . . .

"You're what?!"

Eugene's head whipped around, face blanching as much as his complexion would allow. Fighting dragons, mages, and every species of mob under the sun, it wasn't a look that graced the big guy often.

Of all the ways she'd imagined telling him, this wasn't one of them, standing side by side in front of the gathered Lords and representatives of the Faerie Council, like a pair of high school students caught making out in the gym. When she'd come to Mort and Sakuya for help, she'd been hoping they would be a little more discreet, but events had sort of forced their hand.

This wasn't just about her and Eugene anymore, unfortunately, she managed, without trying, to make it something worse.

"Pregnant." Morgiana said tersely. "So yeah, it's yours."

That seemed to shut him up, and shut him down. General Eugene, stoic commander of the Salamanders and master of the demonic sword Gram flapped his lips stupidly as he tried to come up with a reply.

What the hell else could she say? She'd had a week to think of something, and this was the best she could do. She was pregnant, and if everything worked like it _should_, in another six or seven months, she was going to be giving birth to their child.

A child. Even thinking about it was terrifying, a whole little person that she would be entirely responsible for. Morgiana had fought Dragon Knights and stared into cannon fire, and she'd been scared senseless, but this was on a whole new level.

The mood of the council chamber was somber, more so than usual. Mortimer and Sakuya hadn't stopped at recalling Eugene, they'd brought in all of the Lords for this, the first time they'd all been in the same room at once since finding out that their summoning to this world had been caused by an unassuming little Pinkette.

It just made the whole thing feel more ridiculous, and intimidating, like she was on trial.

The scrutiny from eight pairs of eyes plus Eugene, the looks that ranged from concerned, Sakuya, Thinker, and Alicia Rue, to disdainful, Rute and Zolf, was slowly eating at Morgiana's last nerve. Damn it, she was above giving a damn about what other people thought of her, she'd moved past that, she refused to bow to their opinions.

Finally, Eugene got his tongue working again, but not his brain.

"H-how?!" He stammered, receiving a grimace from his brother and Sakuya. In his defense, he was taking this all remarkably well.

Morgiana couldn't help it, she chuckled under her breath. "Well you know, when a boy and a girl decide to get intimate . . ." Really, he'd seemed _plenty_ experienced when they'd gone through the motions.

"Morgiana, that is enough now." Sakuya said with uncharacteristic softness, for once the Sylph Lord didn't need to bare her fangs for the Lady of the Spriggan's to not just casually brush off. Morgiana froze, her shoulders slumped. Sakuya tucked her hands into her sleeves, lifting her head imperiously. "What is done is done, there is nothing for it but to work with what we've been given. And I am sorry for this, if it were anyone else it could be a private matter, but you two are not anyone else . . . "

It was alright, she hadn't just had this dropped on her, she'd gone along with it by choice.

"Hear Hear." Lord Rute grunted as he fussed over his notes. The old coot was a stick in the mud most of the time, but usually alright once he had a few drinks in him. Right now, he was bone sober. "I don't know what you were thinking, woman. Don't you realize the effect this will have on our reputation with the Nobility? Our business dealings?! You don't just represent yourself, Morgiana!"

"Thinking was sort of taking a back seat at the time." Morgiana answered shortly. She'd screwed up, she didn't need to have that repeated in so many ways. On that night of heated blood and lowered inhibitions, she'd just . . . acted. The same went for Eugene. Chances were, if they'd been just a little less drunk, or had a little more time, they wouldn't have, but that didn't matter now, because they _had_.

Now she had to live with that decision. A hand fell thoughtlessly over her stomach, still firm and flat, but if she was two months along, she could start to show anytime now.

"Aren't you being a little too harsh, Rute-san?" Thinker asked from his seat to the right of the Leprechaun Lord, the Undine Lord a voice of reason along with Sakuya and Mortimer. "We're here to come up with solutions not level blame."

"The blame is easy enough to divvy up in any case." Lord Zolf deigned to speak, deep red eyes pinning Morgiana with a disapproving look. "They are adults, they are equally responsible for their actions." That seemed to be all that the Imp was going to say until he opened his mouth again. "Unfortunately, they also are also both more than just adults or even simply Fae." Zolf's eyes flickered between the Spriggan and Salamander. "Morgiana is First Lord of Muisca and Eugene is Field Commander of the Defense Forces and brother to the First Lord of Gaddan."

Which was the problem, Morgiana thought.

Hers wasn't the first pregnancy, she _definitely _wouldn't be the last, and things being what they were, it was safe to say most of those children wouldn't have been planned on.

But those other women battling with the anxiety of bringing a life into the very dangerous world of Halkegenia _weren't_ Faerie Lords, and that made a difference, as much as Morgiana liked to pretend it didn't.

For better or worse, she was the Lady of the Spriggans, and by dint of that position she retained all of the authority and status of a c_ountess _for so long as she served. She'd tried very hard not to think too much about that until now.

Now, it was kind of a big deal.

Having the status of a countess, she was expected to live up to the _standards_ of a countess. Leading the Kurotaka as a free company in service to the Crown of Tristain, along with her status as a Faerie, had granted her a little leeway as a 'charming eccentric', but that wouldn't keep her out of trouble when people found out she was pregnant with Eugene's child, his bastard, she grimaced, and what hurt her would eventually trickle back to hurt the rest of the Faerie Lords and through them, the rest of the Fae.

That wasn't something she could allow.

"Morgiana-san." Thinker raised his voice, looking down on her kindly from the elevated station of the bench that encircled her and Eugene.

After three months, she still didn't know much about him. Outside of meetings, their paths didn't cross very often. He hadn't been a Lord prior to the Transition, in fact, he'd only been a novice player with very limited playtime under his belt. What he did have going for him was two years of experience in SAO, sort of training wheels for the situation they were in now, and he acted a lot like the practice had sunk in.

He could keep calm under pressure, that was for sure, and he really did try to look out for everyone, sometimes stretching himself a little too thin in the process, lucky he had that classy fiancee to cover for him. The sort of totally honest and earnest guy who was a little boring but rock solid and reliable. Morgiana had found a lot to admire in him.

When Thinker had spoken, everyone had politely stopped to listen. There was an impression among them that it wasn't simply because he was the Undine representative.

"Morgiana-san, have you considered how you're going to move forward as the Spriggan Lord?"

Morgiana nodded once, taking an unusually deep breath. There really was only one thing for it, so far as she could tell. "Look, I talked it over with my seconds in command yesterday . . ."

"You told them?" Sakuya frowned. "We agreed to keep this quiet for now. Morgiana-san, you _know_ how easily rumors about this are going to spread."

"Believe me, I know." Morgiana sighed, and some of her little crows couldn't keep their lips shut to save their lives, but Drake and Shirishi weren't among them, and honestly, she _needed_ them to know. "You told me I should be ready for anything, and I'd rather not have them caught flat footed when this gets out."

"I can't imagine Drake took it well." Mortimer leaned his head against his hand.

"That's one way to put it." Morgiana agreed sheepishly. "He might have also been a little pissed that I'm going to step down."

A wave of muttering spread from one side of the bench to the other, all eight sitting Lords giving her their full attention. Morgiana had been expecting the surprised expressions, she'd even been expecting the small widening of Mortimer's eyes.

"Morgiana." Eugene frowned heavily as he loomed beside her, brow furrowed.

Crossing her arms, she shrugged. "Don't give me that, Gene-kun, I've given this a lot of thought. Valdi would probably love to have his chance in the driver's seat anyway, and now that things are starting to get sorted out, why not let him?"

It had seemed like the right thing to do. The First Lord of Muisca couldn't be with child and _without_ a husband, so she'd just have to stop being First Lord of Muisca. Morgiana thought that would have been the end of it, but apparently this politics thing wasn't quite as simple as that.

"You sure you wanna go through with that?" Alicia Rue peered over the bench like a child at the adult's table.

"It seems the prudent course of action." Zolf looked very diplomatic, all the while glaring at Morgiana. "What are your thoughts, Thinker-san?"

The Undine was slow to reply, which was like him, Morgiana could practically see him measuring out his answer. "The recent triad elections mean that we've ironed out a lot of the bugs with our voting procedure. It wouldn't hurt to do it now while it's still fresh in everyone's mind. If that is what Lady Morgiana wants."

Morgiana nodded again. "It is." It just made sense, it was . . .

"Absolutely unacceptable!" The sound of Sakuya shooting from her seat echoed through the chamber.

It put Rute on edge, had Mortimer and Alicia exchanging glances, and caused Zia and Thinker to cringe. The only one who looked unfazed was the Gnome representative, more of a spokesman for their city council than a proper Lord. Rucks, maybe the only short Gnome in Halkegenia, and also one of the minority of Faeries who looked anything older than a well preserved thirty.

Most of his face was hidden behind a broad white mustache or equally broad, white eyebrows. He was the only one who hadn't spoken this whole time, he'd just taken his seat and politely started listening.

Morgiana blinked owlishly as Sakuya loomed down from on high, the spread wings of the statue of the Goddess Uror hanging over her was a nice touch that Morgiana could only guess had been intentional on the part of the environment designers when they had put the room together.

"What the hell?" Morgiana growled. "I thought you'd agree this was for the best." They were supposed to be on the same side here!

Sakuya took a moment to let the air clear and to gather everyone's attention. "It's tempting to think that stepping down will solve the problem, but I'm afraid it's not going to be anything close to that simple Morgiana."

"What's difficult to understand about it?" Morgiana grumbled back. "A Faerie Lord can't afford this sort of scandal with the Nobility, so I resign and deal with it on my own, I'll figure things out." She spared a worried glance to Eugene, the big guy looked like he wanted to say something, but he was good at keeping quiet and waiting his turn. "Either way it won't be a problem for you guys."

"I'm afraid it'll be a very big problem for us." Sakuya corrected emphatically as she returned to her seat. "Morgiana, you are the _First _First Lord of Muisca, that means a lot, especially now." The Sylph put her hands together, almost lecturing. "What each of us does is going to set precedent and color perceptions of the Fae Council, the Faerie Court, as a whole. We have our supporters in the Nobility, and our enemies, but the majority aren't really in either camp right now. Instead, they're watching us and deciding."

"Exactly!" Morgiana threw her hands up. "I'd really like to not be the person who trashes our reputation please!"

"It may be too late for that." Lord Zolf muttered under his breath to sharp glares from both Thinker and Alicia.

"It's not that simple, Morgiana." Mortimer said next. "You weren't the only one making arrangements after you left, Sakuya and I discussed this at length last night."

Probably over an impressive amount of booze, Morgiana filled in the blanks, it was what she'd be doing, if not for the life growing inside of her. Which reminded her, no more drinking, right when she needed it the most.

"We can't afford to send the message that a Faerie Lord would have a child out of wedlock. We also can't send the message that a Lord can simply step down on short notice. The Nobility of Tristain are used to dealing in personal political alliances and relationships that last for entire lifetimes . . ."

"Excuse me, Mortimer-san." Thinker raised his hand. "I don't mean to interrupt but we're all elected in the end." The Undine observed.

"That is different, the election of New Lords is something that the Nobility will accept, grudgingly." Sakuya answered back. "Service by appointment isn't a new concept. It is a constant that they can plan around. We're very fortunate that the Queen has been so tolerant with us hosting the elections on such short notice. A Lord simply stepping down almost certainly won't be tolerated so easily."

Sakuya's eyes hardened, almost more like Mortimer than herself. "You are a Noblewoman, Morgiana-san. I don't mean to sound so dramatic, but you must serve until you are dismissed, or you die. Doing otherwise will send the message that we are unreliable allies who will wash our hands of our pledges at the first opportunity."

The holier than though attitude, more than anything, was starting to piss Morgiana off. Maybe Shirishi was right, maybe she _was_ hormonal, it'd explain a lot. "Then what do you want me to do?" She spat out. "You're saying I can't resign because that'll cause a diplomatic incident, and I can't stay the Lord of the Spriggan's because _that_ will cause a diplomatic incident." Morgiana's hands fell to her sides. "I'm out of ideas. What else can I do?"

Mortimer and Sakuya traded looks again. Morgiana's eyes narrowed, they were working together, that wasn't a good sign, a pair of schemers those two.

"We think we might have an idea about that." Sakuya said, expression pensive.

"Well?" Morgiana looked on impatiently. "I'm all ears." The rest of the Lords were eager too, leaning in to listen.

She'd have thought that after admitting that they had an idea, Sakuya would be a bit more eager to explain, instead, she started fidgeting. "You're not going to like it, Morgiana."

Morgiana glanced over to Mortimer.

"The answer to that is . . ." Mortimer began, pinching the bridge of his nose " . . . _Problematic." _

"I'll just say it." Sakuya spoke bluntly. "You two are going to have to get married." Green eyes shifted between the Salamander General and the Spriggan Lord. "Morgiana?"

"Come again?" Morgiana picked at her ears. "I must have missed that. It sounded an awful lot like you just said we were going to have to get _married_." She _had_ to have misheard because there was no way in hell Sakuya was suggesting . . . Funny that Eugene seemed to have misheard too.

"B-Brother!" The big man took a full step forward, nearly level with his brother who sat elevated behind the horseshoe shaped bench.

"We've discussed it at length, and given Sakuya's talks with Queen Henrietta on past matters, it's what has to be done." Mortimer said solemnly, closing his eyes as if in meditation. "Both of your reputations depend on it. Sakuya-san can explain better, but these sorts of things weren't uncommon in our own past and are still quite common in Tristain. We can simply claim that you two became engaged prior to Dunkirk and perhaps were a little over eager upon your return. It will be remarked upon, of course, but only as a minor scandal, and I've been assured it is bad form to make too much of such things lest one's own family have use of the conceit."

That didn't seem to be nearly good enough for Eugene. "But . . . !"

"Little Brother." Mortimer began in a soft spoken and not at all severe voice. So soft in fact that Morgiana had to think for the right word to describe it. 'Tender'.

Eugene stopped in his tracks, bowing his head down like a big kid who'd been caught at mischief. "You know that I have never done anything but look out for your best interests." Mortimer breathed softly. "You are my precious younger brother and I will now and always love you as my blood. I would endure any hardship for you."

Everyone in the room was staring at Mortimer, most simply in awe that he was _capable_ of something so heartfelt, a few, like Alicia, trying to hold in a titanic guffaw.

"But I can't shelter you from your own mistakes." Mortimer looked up, and suddenly the softness was replaced by a forcefulness that Morgiana was sure nobody in the room save Eugene had ever heard before. The big Salamander cringed away like a child threatened with a switch as Mortimer's bloody eyes bored straight into him.

"In short, you knocked a girl up." The Lord of the Salamanders growled,as the emotionless front evaporated for one moment. "Take responsibility for your actions god damn it!"

Eugene just stood there like a tree caught in a monsoon, shuddering in near terror as he slowly turned to face her, violet eyes pleading with her. "M-Morgiana? I think . . . Brother really wants this to happen. Morgiana?"

Marry him?

Marry?!

It wasn't like she was afraid of marriage, right? She couldn't be, that was something that every girl was supposed to dream about. The wedding industry practically started programming it in to girls before they could walk and talk and Momoko was no exception. The pretty white dress, the church, the benches full of friends and family, well, friends anyways.

Morgiana couldn't stop clenching and un-clenching her fists as she started to find it intensely difficult to breath. What was wrong with her? That . . . that was just the way things worked. She _knew_ that, so why was it driving her so up the wall? It was something Momoko had planned for all her life, had wanted at some point, so why not now?

And if she did it, it could only be good for her kid and the rest of them. It wasn't like she hated Eugene either, if she did, they wouldn't be in this mess.

Win-win, right?

Morgiana turned her head, Eugene was standing there, stock still and doing his best to regain his stoic demeanor. But did she want it with him? Tall, dark, handsome, and good in a fight. Someone who had her back and who was fun to mess around with, that had been enough right? But it wasn't nearly enough to marry him, to have a baby with him!

"Will this really work?" Rute asked, he looked less than convinced, though Morgiana didn't notice, she was too busy trying to breathe.

"We need to strike while the iron is hot." Mortimer answered back. "It would be best if arrangements can be made within a week's time. If it can be kept small, that would arouse less suspicion."

Rute exchanged a few brief words with Thinker, murmured so low that Morgiana couldn't have heard even if she'd wanted to.

"Once we set a date, we at least need to invite a few members of the Nobility to attend." Sakuya added quickly. "We'll need to afford every bit of legitimacy we can."

'Hold on here.' Morgiana thought. Wasn't she supposed to have a say? This was her future that was getting planned around her. Wasn't she going to speak up for herself? Lips dry and numb, tongue fat, refusing to move.

"Leave smoozing the Nobility to me." Alicia chimed in merrily. "I think I've got the hang of keeping these guys buttered up."

Everyone talking, planning, arguing all around her. And still, Morgiana was silent. She didn't have to say a thing. Her future was being decided for her, all she needed was to close her eyes and go with it. All she had to do was what she was _told_. And she hated it, worse, she hated herself.

'I'm not that person. I'm _NOT_.' She'd worked so hard for years to not to be that person. Not being that person was her proudest achievement, even if it was hard sometimes.

"Morgiana? Morgiana are you listening?" She looked up at the sound of Sakuya's voice and then realized the room was quiet, and for the first time she saw that the Gnome representative was looking to her with dark brown eyes. "Rucks-san was just asking well . . ." The Gnome raised his hand to speak for himself.

"Just seems to me it ain't right to be going to all this trouble till we hear your end of it." The Gnome said in a heavy Osaka accent that Morgiana was almost certain had to be fake. "Seeing as it's your life we're proposing to muck around with. How are you feeling about all this?"

Feeling? Morgiana wondered.

The others were looking at her again, waiting for her answer.

She was feeling . . .

Morgiana licked her lips. "I . . ."

She was . . .

"That is . . ."

She . . .

"Uhm . . ."

She just wanted to float away. A hand came down on her shoulder, heavy but firm, forcing her to stay put and to stay calm. It was like someone had put a fixed point right there beside her and when she looked up, she saw Eugene looking down.

"I think Morgiana and I need a little time." Eugene rumbled before anyone could say a word. "Brother, this is very sudden. Can we just have until tomorrow to sort this out?"

Mortimer conferred with Sakuya, looked back to his brother, and then returned to whatever he was saying with the Sylph. Those two were entirely too good together. His answer came in the form of a small nod. "Please, take until tomorrow if you like. Both of you. I know this is a lot to ask. If this were anywhere else or you two were _anyone_ else, it would be different, but please remember that your actions will have consequences beyond yourselves."

"Regardless of what you decide." Sakuya said. "We only want what is best for everyone. We'll help however we can, whatever you decide, Morgiana-san, Eugene-san."

"Then let's have a little recess." Alicia suggested. "The air in here needs to clear anyways, and there are a few other things on the agenda . . ."

Morgiana didn't catch the rest as she was lead out into the tower atrium and the sweet, fresh air that was wafting through the open doors to the landing deck. Just getting out of that room made it easier to breathe, just getting away from the eyes helped her to forget the sense of paralysis.

"Morgiana? Are you alright?" Eugene was right beside her.

'Damn it, I don't want him to see me like this. I'm not . . . fragile . . .'

She pulled away while staying silent, lengthening her stride towards the door. "I'm fine." She said a little more sharply than she'd really meant.

"Are you sure?" Eugene was keeping up right beside her, hovering over her, and it was putting her on edge. She didn't need to be coddled!

"Oh, I'm sure." She snapped back. "I went to Sakuya and Mort for help and then they grilled me in front of a room full of Lords." Real fun that had been. "Then I'm told I've got to get hitched because you knocked me up." She laughed harshly. "But don't sweat it, it's no big deal really!"

Eugene grabbed her by the shoulder again, turning her around and waiting for her to look him in the eye. "You're lying." He said firmly, brows furrowing as if he could somehow figure out why that may be. "What my brother and Sakuya said upset you."

"Brilliant deduction, Gene-kun." Morgiana breathed. "I'm so glad you can just go along with whatever your brother wants."

"Morgiana!" Eugene looked like she'd just slapped him.

"You can't tell me you're okay with this!" She raised her voice, a few passersby spared them looks, right up until they realized who they were looking at and were promptly scared off. Lowering her voice so that she wouldn't be overheard she went on. "Your brother just told you to _marry _me. This is a big deal and you're just going to go with it?"

No way in hell, and even if he did, Morgiana looked him in the eye, he wouldn't be the man she thought he was.

Just who was he anyway? It was easy to brush off when they'd just been messing around, that wasn't true anymore.

"No." He asserted firmly. "I would marry you because it's the right thing to do. My brother doesn't have anything to do with that." Eugene looked uncertain before coming to a decision. "Morgiana, if you don't want this, I understand, I'll speak to Mortimer and Sakuya about it."

He'd do that? No, stupid question, of course he would, Morgiana bit her lip, and then things would be an even bigger mess. The truth was, Sakuya and Mortimer were probably right. There were dozens of reasons, good reasons, why she should do it. So why couldn't she just say that?

"It's all just a lot to take in." Eugene rumbled as he took her by the shoulders. "A child? Our child?" His eyes were shining, that look that people got when they started to hope again. "Is this for real?"

Morgiana snorted softly. "Don't kid yourself, I wouldn't go this far for a bad joke."

"You've known for more than a week." Eugene mumbled. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He was sure to ask that, wasn't he? "Well, you know, I've been busy . . ." _I've been scared out of my mind_. "I've got plenty of other kids who need looking after." _I didn't want to think about this._ "And I didn't know how to tell you." _I was afraid to tell you._

"You could have sent for me." Eugene pressed her. "This is just . . . I'm going to be a father." He started to chuckle. "I can't believe this, this is . . . this is incredible. We're going to be parents." Saying it that way, with that eager look, Morgiana could almost have forgotten what it all meant. He was just that crazy kind of guy. Then she remembered where they were and how insane it was to be happy about bringing a life into this world, that crazy wasn't actually a _good_ thing.

"Stop saying stuff like that!" Morgiana yanked free of his grasp, stepping out of his reach, the move left Eugene as dumbstruck as before. "Stop saying this like it can be alright!" It was as far from alright as things could get. "Do you think I'm ready for this?" She wasn't.

"Of course not." Eugene shook his head. "I already said this is a lot to take in, we just need to work this out as best we can." He said solemnly. "This is . . . this is something that we both have a hand in. I won't let it turn bad for you or the child, Morgiana, I swear."

"I know, and I believe you. That's not the problem." He'd say something like that, for him, it was easy, Morgiana thought, but for her . . . "Look, Eugene, I don't want my . . . my _child_ to grow up in a home without a loving family. I've seen what that does." She squeezed her eyes shut, gathering up the courage for what she had to say.

"Morgiana . . ."

But it had to be said, because anything else would be unfair to him, because she admired the man in front of her, and thought well of him, and trusted him, but . . .

"Eugene . . . I don't . . . love you."


	10. Chapter 2 Part 3: Clear Water, Milkshake

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 3

"Oy, it's hot." The Salamander beside Kirito muttered as he adjusted his straw hat to ward off the afternoon sun. "It's hot!"

Kirigaya Kazuto, Kirito, spared his friend and partner in crime, Tsuboi Ryotaro, the swordsman Klein, a mildly bemused look. "Aren't Salamanders supposed to be good with the heat?"

Klein's reply was a long time in coming, then, "It's humid. It's too damn humid! Lizards aren't any good in this sort of humid weather." He stopped suddenly and leaned in Kirito's direction, a suspicious gleam in his eye.

Kirito was left to lean back or risk getting a little too intimate. "W-what?"

"You're saying I shouldn't be bugged by the heat. How the hell is it," Klein crossed his arms and assumed a meditative pose, "That you can be dressed like _that," _he waved to Kirito's heavy black t-shirt and pants, "And not be frying along with me?"

The Spriggan looked down at his own clothes, it wasn't like he wasn't sweating too, the humidity by the lake _was_ pretty intense today. All Kirito could think was that it was personal discipline and that Klein was exaggerating his discomfort, or maybe the moisture really _was_ getting to him. In ALfheim, hadn't the territories around Muisca been mostly thick jungle? Maybe it was his Spriggan heritage at work.

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be affecting Yui in the least as the young Maeve held up the silvery bit of metal with its attached bait for Kirito to examine. "Like this, right Papa?" The little girl asked, eagerly waiting for his approval.

Kirito took the tackle and made sure it was tied off as he'd shown her. "It looks good." He agreed, smiling as Yui beamed with pride.

The summer heat had hit the Fae City of Arrun with a speed and oppressiveness that would have once been almost unbelievable to any of its twenty thousand denizens, most familiar as they were with the technological luxuries of air conditioning and refrigeration.

Undines had been in high demand since the heat wave had struck, generating ice to help cool the public buildings and supply a base for the frozen treats that had been exploding in popularity. It was amazing what could be made with just ice shavings, fruit, eggs, and cream. Most of the demand was from the local Faeries of course, but it shouldn't have come as any surprise that the native Halkegenians had become big customers as well.

The concept of the 'Snow Cone' had already existed in Tristain prior to the summoning of the Faeries of ALfheim, but ice cream was an entirely new idea that was being quickly embraced by the Nobility.

'Agil is probably laughing all the way to the bank.'

Kirito frowned as he imagined the giant man who had started making deals with the local farms to secure the closest source of cream, and also with the _Pixies _to get his hands on a number of rare ALfheim fruits that formed the base for a whole line of 'Gourmet' desserts marketed towards Nobles with more money than sense and a burning desire to capitalize on the new 'Ice Cream' product. When last he'd heard, Lord Rute had been looking to invest in a seasonal operation.

Kathy was probably right, Kirito mused, if her husband had been even half as driven in his time on Earth as he had been in Aincrad, or especially here in Halkegenia, they would never have had to log into ALO to find Asuna, Agil would have had the resources to _buy out_ the RETCO subsidiary.

'Scary'. Kirito remembered that toothy smile that could make small children cry.

As for himself, Kirito wasn't nearly as motivated as Agil in this heat, or even Klein who he'd found in the barracks being used as a pack mule by the fiery little support mage, Enya. This was their last day before they had to travel to the capital and report at the Champ de Mars training facility, so he'd wanted to do something special with Yui who would be staying behind again with Suguha in Arrun, where she would be safe.

He had been meaning to teach her to fish.

"Okay now." Kirito took hold of Yui's arms, sitting behind her on the dock that stuck out into the clear blue and still remarkably cold water of Arrun Lake. Father and daughter had kicked off their shoes and their feet now dangled over the calm surface, scaring off the small fish sheltering in the shade. They were after a bigger catch today. "When you cast the line you want it to get good and far out, it's no good if it's too close, since the fish will be scared off by us."

"Un." Yui nodded attentively.

"And be extra careful how you do this part." He warned, remembering a nasty accident on his own first fishing trip with his grandfather, getting the hook caught up on his ear, an ever likelier and potentially more painful accident for a Faerie.

They took a few practice swings, Kirito guiding Yui through the motions, and then, once he was satisfied, he withdrew his hands and let his daughter do the rest.

Yui's eyes went wide with delight as her tackle flew out in a shallow arc and splashed down in the water. She almost forgot to grab the line before it unspooled too far, but Kirito didn't have to intervene, remembering in time and doing it just as he'd shown her.

"Oy, way to put your shoulder into it!" Klein laughed, reeling his own line in a little so that the two lures wouldn't get tangled.

"You're going to scare off the fish, Klein." Kirito grumbled, but he admired Yui's handiwork nonetheless, not bad for a first try.

"Now what?" Yui asked expectantly, looking up from beneath his chin.

"Now," Kirito closed his eyes, "We wait."

Yui nodded sagely and turned back to her fishing rod. And so they waited. And then waited some more.

This was the tough part for kids, Kirito knew, and just as expected, it wasn't long before Yui began to fidget and pluck at the line.

"You just have to wait." Kirito repeated patiently.

"Mmmm . . ." Yui's features scrunched up cutely. "How much longer?"

"Well, that depends, Yui-chan." Klein reeled his line in and recast.

"On what?"

"The fish." Kirito said, and grinned as he enjoyed his daughter's scowl. "You just have to . . ."

"Wait." Klein finished.

It would be unfair to say Yui looked happy about this development, Kirito supposed he should have let her read up a little more beforehand, but he had told her what to expect.

"Fishing is about patience." Kirito said, picking up his daughter's sunhat and planting it firmly on her head. "It's a chance to just sit back for a little while and let the world pass you by. Sometimes that's difficult to do on its own, but even the busiest person can learn to fish." It was a philosophy that Kirito firmly believed in and couldn't help but convey the importance of to his own daughter.

Yui listened until he was finished, nodding slowly, and then replying seriously. "It sounds like you're making an excuse to be lazy, Papa."

Kirito's smile developed the smallest of cracks. So judgmental!

"That's not . . ." Kirito began to say, only to freeze, instincts snapping him to full alertness as he felt the deck planks creak at his back, and then the cool as a shadow suddenly loomed over him. Kirito's hand reached reflexively for a sword, only to find the cork handle of the fishing pole he'd borrowed from Old Man Nishida.

He'd almost forgotten, Arrun Lake was safe along this side of the shore, and between the frequent passersby, their proximity to the city, and the presence of himself and Klein, it hadn't seemed necessary to bring a weapon.

It probably wasn't necessary now either, just old habits trying to keep him safe, or at least, that's what he thought until he looked up, and up, and up . . . "Uh?" And then blanched as he was met by a pair of intensely violet eyes beneath thick eyebrows. "Wuh!"

Kirito felt himself swallow, he recognized him instantly, General Eugene would have been impossible to mistake for anyone else, a massive man who was nearly as broad across the shoulders as most Gnomes. It was also impossible to mistake the hard set of his features as being even remotely welcoming or friendly.

Kirito's eyes performed a quick check, appraising the Threat Level. The Gigantic Salamander wasn't wearing his armor today, instead opting for a blood red shirt that was pulled tight across a heavily muscled upper body, and khaki pants that were tucked into a solid pair of leather boots. If this was what he considered 'casual' clothes, then they still made him look like an off duty soldier, or maybe an American action hero from those old turn of the century films.

Then, Kirito's heart sped up as he spied the strap running diagonally from shoulder to hip and the long hilt of a brutal and unpleasantly familiar executioner's sword. He was in the middle of devising a way to utilize fishing poles in place of proper swords when Eugene at last spoke.

"Kirito-san." He nodded slowly. "Deputy Squad Commander." He added as he eyed Klein.

"S-Sir!" The shorter Salamander shot to his feet with the closest thing Kirito had ever seen to a smart salute, well, smart for Klein. "General Eugene, Sir!"

"As you were." Eugene rumbled, sparing Klein only a brief glance before looking back to Kirito with that same terrifying expression. Kirito felt Yui squirming in his arms as she peered up along with him.

"Nnnn?" Yui tiled her head, mystified, and drawing Eugene's attention.

The General gazed down at her quietly, and then, squatting down on his haunches so that he only towered over the seated Kirito instead of dominating the sky above him, Eugene's dark features broke out in what Kirito though was an effort at a friendly smile, but like Agil's attempts, Kirito was pretty sure it would do more to scare small children away than to make them think that he was their friend.

Eugene had to know that too, but he appeared dead set on moving forward in spite of it. "Hello Yui-chan, I hope you're doing well today."

Yui blinked slowly, eyes utterly blank as she processed this Unexpected Scenario and then decided on a course of action. Yui smiled back and nodded confidently. "Un! Papa is teaching me how to fish." She crossed her arms wisely. "But really, I learned that he just likes not having to do any work. Are you here to fish too, Eugene-san?"

"Hmm." The commander of the Defense Forces looked out over the lake for what felt like a long time before shaking his head. "It would be nice, but that's not what I'm here for today. If it's alright, I need to borrow your 'Papa' for a little while."

"Oh?" Yui tilted her head, and then. "Oh."

He needed to be borrowed? Kirito grimaced, whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Memory of what he'd heard Lord Mortimer say about his brother's lust for combat, and also his reputation at the Battle of York, was enough to make him a little anxious. He couldn't really want a rematch, could he?

Even with training swords, Kirito had seen some of the practice duels between other Faeries, some of the injuries made Suguha's strike to his head look like small stuff.

"Uhm, if this is about the Yggdrasil Knights . . ." Kirito started. It would just have to wait until tomorrow, he'd earned that much, at least.

"Papa." Yui asked for his attention, turning to look down, he was confronted by dark, worried eyes. "I think you should go listen to Eugene-san."

"Oh?" Kirito frowned, did Yui know something he didn't, or had she simply sensed something?

"I don't think Gene-san came to pick a fight." Yui answered his unasked question with complete confidence.

The General's violet eyes widened. "Right." He said deeply as he reached down to grab hold of Kirito, lifting the smaller Spriggan like a kitten by the scruff of his neck. "If it's alright then, I'll be borrowing him for just a short while."

"But . . ." Kirito tried to say.

"Un." Yui nodded again. "Just take good care of him Eugene-san!"

Eugene started to turn, swinging Kirito like a sack of rice, and then stopped, "Deputy Squad Commander."

"Sir!" Klein, who had remained at attention the entire time barked. "Keep a close eye on Yui-chan for Kirito-san until we get back."

"Yes Sir!" Klein saluted again, only Kirito saw him sag as Eugene turned fully to depart, watching helplessly as the dock receded behind them, reaching out one last time for what could never be and Yui waving happily goodbye, Kirito accepted defeat. He really hoped this wouldn't take too long. Then again, how could it? What sort of problems could someone like Eugene possibly have?

* * *

"Here you are, Miss!" The Undine girl behind the counter pressed two mugs into Asuna's hands and politely gestured for her to move away so that she could attend to the next guest pushing up from behind, a red faced Undine slapping down a pair of coins as he all but demanded a large ice tea.

'Some people really can't take the heat.' Asuna observed as she tested her order, taking a small sip from the straw and savoring the cool, cream sweetness that played over her tongue. She wondered if it was another sign of the racial traits that had been developing among the varied Faerie races, or simply the natural consequences of the heat. Given the weather, it could really be either way.

Threading among the tables and chairs that had been set up near one of the arcade Kiosks, Asuna was able to pick out snatches of conversation.

"What did you call this confection again, Kruznev?" A broad and generously bellied nobleman who was practically spilling out of his chair asked his Leprechaun partner.

"It's a triple scoop ice cream."

The Noblemen poked at his dish with a look of interest in his eyes. "I do believe it would be wise to talk to the fellows who came up with this."

"Oh? I thought you said you were only in the market of _durable_ goods, Hiram?"

"Then perhaps it's time to expand my markets!"

At least it was cool down here. The Arrun Underground Shopping Arcade, set into the basement of Arrun tower, was like an oasis from the heat on the streets above, crammed full of people taking refuge from the noon day sun, and indulging in some of the latest products designed to gobble up hard earned money, like the strawberry milkshake she was drinking right now while offering the second glass to a visibly wilted Lizbeth.

The Leprechaun drew down greedily on her drink, causing the level of the ice cream snack to drop precipitously before she drew back to gasp. "I feel alive again!"

Asuna smiled, and tried not to laugh too hard as Liz leaned back in her chair. "Anyways, thanks a lot for this. Can you believe she sent me all the way to Arrun to buy her Rare Earths? And she expects me to haul it all back on my own!" Liz fanned at her face and neck, livid all the way down her neck. "She's really a slave driver!"

"It can't be _that _bad." Asuna said politely, she knew that Liz was mostly complaining about nothing, and that she really did respect the smith that she was working with. Tilting her head as she thought about what she'd just been told. "Rare Earths?"

"Super rare elements." Liz explained. "Not all of ALfheim's crafting materials are fantasy metals that didn't exist on Earth, some of them were just super rare and expensive. The Gnomes mine them in the bottom galleries of Tau Tona, and there are a few other veins in the Deep Corridors. You can probably guess by the names that they're super hard to come by. Most weren't even known about until at least the nineteenth or twentieth centuries." Liz stretched her arms across the granite tabletop of the small table they had occupied in a corner of the cavernous arcade foyer. "We used some in the strengthening and for the final surface treatments on your Queen Mab."

Taking another sip from her drink, that made sense, but at the same time left Asuna with only more questions. "If they're normal elements, couldn't you just have an Earth Mage or an Alchemist make them?"

Liz's answer came in the form of a vague wave of her hand she pressed her forehead to the cold tabletop with a profound look of relief. "Turns out it's not that easy. The Earth Mages have a hard time transmuting some of the elements, and there are others that they didn't even know existed until we showed them. It's the same problem for the Leprechaun and Gnome Alchemists, those mats were expensive and hard to come by, so they can't just magic them up."

"So that's why you had to come all the way to Arrun." Asuna reasoned.

"Yeah, pretty much." Liz agreed. "Kofu sent me to make a deal with a guy here in Arrun who secured rights with the Gloir family. Their land has a prime chunk of transitioned ALfheim sitting right in the middle of it with a really rich mineral vein." She blew out a breath. "But I don't have any idea when he's going to show."

Asuna nodded sympathetically. With Liz arriving in Arrun so close to their own departure, she hadn't seen the harm in letting her old blacksmith and friend use one of their spare bedrooms, and one more mouth to feed wasn't too much to ask for.

"Thanks again for this, I owe you one." Liz lifted the half drained glass.

Asuna smiled. "It's really nothing at all after you got my sword delivered on time like that. Buying you a drink is the least I can do."

"Not just for that." Liz said. "I would have had to blow money on an inn if I hadn't had someplace to stay."

"Like I said, it's fine." Asuna insisted. "And besides, it gives us a chance to catch up." A lot had happened in the last three months and between Liz's job and the travel time between Arrun and Northern Tristain, it wasn't practical to visit unless they happened to have business that brought them to the same City.

It felt strange to Asuna that after growing to know her so well when their bodies were tens, even hundreds of kilometers apart, it was so hard just to see her friend in person.

They chatted for a while longer as the they finished off their drinks. Liz had a lot to say about what was happening in Goubniu these days. The giant central forges, the smokestacks of which formed the Leprechaun city's Tower, was being renovated to house the new furnaces for steel production, and now smoke billowed from its stacks almost everyday as the engineers and mages refined the process for mass production.

It was all thanks to financing from the Vallieres, the Noble family which had developed the firmest ties with the Leprechauns and Gnomes thanks to the location of their estates. But even more than that, the Valliere family had been some of the firmest supporters of the Faeries since the very beginning.

It was strange to think that the cause of everything was the Duke and Duchess's youngest Daughter. Not that the revelation hadn't remained strictly need-to-know, but it was another thing that Asuna had been wondering about recently.

She was a Knight of the Faerie Court and Tristain, thought she didn't feel like it just yet. That meant that she was privileged to know a good many things and had been learning a good many more whenever she visited with Wales and Tristain's new Queen. One of the things she wasn't proud of having learned was to always look for an ulterior motive.

The official order handed down by Queen Henrietta was that Louise Valliere had been kidnapped and possibly subverted by her captors, whether that was true or she had gone willingly, the instructions given to all Knights and Agents of the Crown in regards to Louise Valliere were to treat her as a compromised but valued individual, placing her safe capture and return to Tristain even above their own lives.

In fact, Asuna knew that even if Louise was brought back safely to Tristain, regardless of her reasons, there were plans to place her under indefinite house arrest.

Given the Valliere family's power and wealth, it was safe to say that most would draw the wrong conclusion about the recent, fervent displays of loyalty which were also overtures for leniency.

Louise would be treated humanely, but it was unlikely that, knowing what they knew about her involvement in the summoning of ALfheim and the mysterious World Seed that she had apparently taken into her own body, she'd ever be allowed to leave the comfortable cage that was being arranged for her.

That thought was enough to stir up a small measure of Sympathy from Asuna. She'd had quite enough of gilded cages herself.

"You have to see them next time you're in town, the converters are _huge_." The Leprechaun finished her story. "It's pretty amazing that they could build the furnaces so quickly." Liz recounted. "But between the Mages and all the people we have working on the project, they were able to get the first of the units put together in less than month."

"That _is_ pretty amazing." Asuna agreed as she watched Liz finish her drink and stand up. "Alright then, I'm off to find this guy. Given the heat, he'll probably be holed up inside at his offices. Geez, I hope this is worth it."

"Well, whether or not you get what you came for," Asuna got up as well, hefting her grocery bag, "I'm making Soba noodles for this evening." The hot weather just seemed to be begging for something cold this evening.

"Gotcha. And thanks for the invitation." Liz grinned. "I'll let you know. Later then!"

They parted ways, Liz heading towards the southern exit from the Arcade while Asuna headed west to stay sheltered for as long as she could before stepping out onto the streets. With all the stone that made up the buildings near the center of the city, it wasn't hard to see why Arrun was so hot at ground level, the white surfaces reflected the light in every direction, but mostly, they directed the heat at the pedestrians. And dazzled them too!

Asuna was thankful for her hat and sunglasses and had almost been ready to take to the skies to trade the surface heat for the cooler air above before thinking better of it. Her wings had been getting her enough attention as it was, working her shoulders almost without thinking about it to relieve the false sensation of tension that the folded magic limbs produced, now that she was known as a Knight, she really didn't want to be spared a second glance.

So instead, she decided to take a shortcut that she'd found a while back, an innocent little Exploit of Arrun's topography that she had discovered thanks to Yui.

There were any number of parks and green spaces spread through the Faerie city. Most were kept hydrated by means of small streams, the overflow from the springs and river sources that supplied the city with drinking water. These streams cut their own path through secluded gardens and parks, winding their way down through the city before terminating among the herb and vegetable gardens and fish ponds in the semi-settled outer districts.

More importantly, between the water, and the shelter provided by the foliage, they were like tunnels of cool running randomly through the city, and she was approaching one right now that would drop her off near home.

She cast a furtive glance in both directions to be sure that no one was watching. It was a little selfish, but if everyone knew the secret, it wouldn't make a very good shortcut anymore, and the Watch would probably forbid it as unfit for travel, which would make Yui's friends and by extension, Yui, very upset.

Satisfied that no one was coming, Asuna hiked up her skirt just enough to throw one leg over the railing of a small footbridge, then scooted swiftly over the edge, dropping from view.

It wasn't a very long drop, the scary part was breaking through the foliage overhead, landing lightly on the broad, moss-covered stepping stones that paralleled a small, fast moving stream, this one fed the park near their home, if Asuna remembered correctly, she'd by back in no time at all.

Heading downhill, the noises of the birds and the occasional sounds of people as she passed beneath more footbridges were her only companions until she reached the park, more of a small public garden. The place was usually abandoned, it was pretty enough, with a small pond and arbor, but there were prettier parks in other sections of the City, so Asuna hadn't thought to check if she was being watched.

If she had, she wouldn't have been so surprised find someone sitting beside the pond where the stream water pooled and swirled before continuing its journey downward.

"Ah! I'm sorry I . . ." Asuna was halfway through formulating an excuse when she recognized the woman looking up at her.

"Morgiana-san?" Asuna asked. No, she was sure, she recognized the Spriggan Lord from the few times they had been in the same room, she was very hard to forget. Though, something seemed different today.

"Oh . . . " For her part, Morgiana's startled look faded into recognition, she asked softly, "You're Kirito-kun's girl, aren't you? Asuna, right?"

"Un." Asuna didn't know what else to say. Something was definitely wrong, that much was clear as day, all it would take was one look at the Spriggan woman's face, or the way that she let her bare feet dangle into the pond while she kept her knees pulled up to her chin, like a troubled child.

Which was why Asuna felt compelled to ask, even if they weren't exactly friends, she felt she had an obligation to make sure. "Morgiana-san? I didn't expect to see you here." Or anyone really. "Is everything alright?"

The Spriggan woman broke into a tired smile. "Alright? Yeah, everything is just fine." She chuckled softly. "It's just perfect. Why wouldn't it be?" But the smile was brittle, like old porcelain, and the Spriggan's eyes told how much she didn't mean it. Asuna didn't buy it for a second.

Setting her bag down on level ground, Asuna spread out her skirt and seated herself beside the older woman.

"It's pretty obvious I'm lying, huh?" Morgiana asked softly, waiting for Asuna to nod slowly. "The truth is . . . I'm hiding." Said in a very small and un-Morgiana like voice. Asuna hadn't even known the woman could speak so softly.

"From who?" Asuna asked, growing a little worried. Who could Morgiana need to hide from? "Is there some sort of trouble?"

"Yes." The Spriggan said. "And no. Maybe." She shook her head. "I'm hiding from my Guild, this isn't one of my normal haunts, and . . . I guess I'm kind of hiding from myself." She chuckled again. "I guess that probably sounds pretty dumb, huh?"

"I don't think so." Asuna said quickly, receiving a skeptical look for her trouble. "I mean," Asuna went on, "There's times when you don't want to think too hard about your troubles, aren't there?" Asuna had known plenty of times like that, in Aincrad, and even before, in that lonely house that had felt like it was only ever occupied by herself and her mother.

Morgiana started to speak, and then stopped, and then she smiled genuinely. The sound that came next was more like bells than anything else, giggles rather than the deep, forceful laughs that the Spriggan woman always seemed to use. "I guess you're right. Maybe what I need is a good vacation from myself." She stopped, looking to Asuna with a strange expression. "Say, Asuna, you and Kirito . . . you're like . . . married, right?"

Asuna didn't know why that would matter, but she nodded quickly. "Un. Although, it's not that simple really." She thought back to the circumstances. Even if she considered it as meaningful as any real life wedding, she knew it wasn't really the same thing. "Is there something you wanted to ask me about it? If it'll help . . ." She trailed off as Morgiana's features grew troubled.

"Maybe." The Spriggan Lord said at last. "Depends, do you have a minute?"

For Asuna, the answer was simple enough. She had been confronted by a person in need, and by chance had learned that she could help. "I have a little time." She said.


	11. Chapter 2 Part 4: Fishing for Advice

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 2 – Part 4

"Morgiana is . . . pregnant." The Spriggan swordsman Kirito repeated what he had just been told with a tone of disbelieving dread. "With _your_ child."

"She's very confident that is how it went." Eugene replied stoically, and he was inclined to believe her on the matter, his own feelings aside.

"You mean you . . ." Kirito started to gesture confusedly.

Eugene nodded.

"With her . . . ?"

"Yes." The Salamander agreed.

Fujioka Tarou, the Salamander General Eugene, waited patiently for the shock to wear-off. Judging by the way that the Spriggan's eyes had glazed over, he was going to be waiting for a while.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt about it, but then, whether as Eugene or as Tarou, he had always held to the conviction that the fastest way from one point to another was a straight line, regardless of what that line demanded of him, he'd never had any difficulty in walking it. That was, until now.

'That woman.' Eugene thought, the image of Morgiana clear in his mind. 'She doesn't make anything easy.'

Of course, he'd known that long before his avatar had become his flesh and blood, their last duel in ALO had convinced him of that. Seeing how Morgiana had weathered the catastrophe of the Transition had only strengthened those convictions.

"So." Kirito asked at last, slowly sinking down to sit atop a large rock that overlooked the lakeside from their secluded vantage and the dock where the Vice Squad Commander and the Black Swordsman's own daughter were still seated with their fishing rods. "You two must be making plans, no, stupid, I'm sure the Lords all know by now." Eugene winced, Kirito was more right than he knew. "This is going to be a big deal when it becomes public knowledge. But why tell me all of this?"

Eugene took a long, slow breath as he considered just how he had ended up looking for help from the only man who had managed to defeat him after he had obtained the Demonic Sword Gram.

The simple truth was that Kirito had simply been the only person he knew with a 'wife' and 'child' and perhaps circumstances that were partly relevant, though hardly identical to the ones that Eugene found himself facing now.

But now that he was here, he was at a loss for exactly what to say next. Eugene tilted his head back down towards the lakeside, where the Vice Squad Commander was occupied entertaining the little girl, Kirigaya Yui, her father's daughter.

"Because, I'm in need of . . ." Eugene paused to study the Spriggan youth, he hesitated to say advice. Eugene would have snorted, all of this tiptoeing was much more like Sakuya or his brother's game. " . . . Another perspective. One I can't get from Brother or the Lords" He settled on that as his answer.

Kirito remained mystified for perhaps a breath longer, then, the young man's features grew serious. "I'm sorry." He apologized. "If this is about what I think it is. I'm not sure how much help I can be. Keep in mind that Yui-chan isn't Asuna's or my biological daughter, so I can't really give that sort of advice."

Eugene shook his head, frustration growing, not that he had been expecting help like that, really, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe just someone to hear him out. "That's fine, it's only part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

How to say this, he'd always had difficulty with these sorts of things. It didn't help that he was trying to live up to what was expected of a man in these situations, only to discover that the woman he was doing it partly for might not appreciate his devotion.

The stomach turning sensation that had accompanied the Spriggan Lord's . . . no . . . Morgiana's, confession, had not yet faded.

"When she told me, I was . . . surprised." Yes, surprised was a good word for it, because in truth, he _still_ wasn't sure how to feel.

A man was supposed to be overjoyed when he heard news of his first child, and he supposed he was, and maybe a little in awe. "But there could be problems with us having the child as things are." The Nobility for one, would never stand for it, not while Morgiana was a Faerie Lord and he was a General, and Knight of Tristain.

Eugene knew without asking that his brother Katsuo wouldn't appreciate it much either, regardless of politics. "Brother and the other Lords have told us that it would be in everyone's best interest if we were to make official arrangements."

"You mean, for you and Morgiana to get married." Kirito blanched very slightly, an impressive achievement given his ashen complexion. Was the prospect really so terrifying?

Eugene nodded his head. To think that he might propose marriage to someone in a time and a place like this, it seemed insane, but it also seemed sensible. And he couldn't say he was averse to Morgiana's company.

Her Fae granted beauty and stature completely aside, he'd been impressed more and more by her at every turn since the Transition, brave, and possessed of a commendable personal strength, and a wonderfully _good_ sense of humor that seemed to resonate with the people around her. That was it, she had a way of making the people around her _better_. What he had seen so far had only made him want to know her more.

Which was probably why, when the question had been asked, he'd been willing to say yes.

"I told Morgiana that I wanted to be there for our child." Eugene said gruffly, he found that he'd begun to pace as he spoke. "It isn't the way that I would have wanted it, but I told her I was willing to do it for her sake, and for the child. But . . ."

"I get it." Kirito said softly. Eugene gave the young man, sitting close eyed, another look. Maybe he hadn't chosen wrongly in coming to Kirito. "That's when she told you that she isn't in love with you."

And at that, Eugene hesitated. Hearing her say 'No' had been a brutal reminder that he really didn't know her at all, not the way he'd thought he did.

"She said what was in her heart." Eugene said quietly. "I can't fault her for that. I'm grateful that she spoke only the truth."

Except . . . he almost wished she hadn't, or rather, that the truth had been different. Not that he could have expected anything else. They barely knew each other after all, that was no foundation for any sort of relationship. In short, he'd been a fool and seen only what he'd wanted to see. The blame rested only with him.

"Kirito." Eugene spoke up. "Asuna-san . . . She was with you in SAO, you've thought of yourselves as a married since that time, haven't you?"

This time, the Spriggan's jaw took on a harder set and he met Eugene's gaze directly. The Salamander admitted that he was satisfied, that was the look of the swordsman he'd fought in ALO, determined not to let anything stop him. "I consider my marriage to Asuna to be completely real." Kirito clasped his hands together while speaking. "It doesn't matter one way or another how others see it, I've chosen to devote myself to her."

"But you didn't know her IRL, did you?" Or at least, Eugene hadn't heard anything to that effect. And yet, Kirito had been willing to go back into Full Dive as soon as he there was the smallest glimmer of hope that he would find her. And what was more, he'd been willing to fighting his way across an entire Kingdom in this real world in order to reach her.

Kirito's nod came with a pained smile. "The first time I ever saw Asuna in the real world was when I visited her hospital room, before that, she was only a person who existed to me in Aincrad. So no, I didn't know anything about the real Asuna when I fell in love with her."

Eugene closed his eye, meditating on what he had been told. "Then what I should ask, is how you can have such conviction?" How could he build trust like that in a world where nobody knew the truth about anyone that they met?

"Conviction?" Kirito scratched at the back of his neck, seeming a little embarrassed. "I don't know if I'd say that. I just decided that the Asuna I met in Aincrad was the real Asuna and chose to believe in her completely. I think it's the same for Asuna as well."

Eugene was in the midst of formulating a reply when Kirito went on. "Just so it's clear, I don't think the important qualities of a person are something that really changes, even if the personality we show to the world is different, it comes from the same source. So if you're worried about whether the Morgiana you know is just an act, or if she's really the person you think she is, I don't think that there's really any difference."

"So, that's your advice?" Eugene didn't know whether to believe it. "People can assume a completely different character when their given the chance." He'd seen it often enough, playing both ALO and the older flat screen MMOs that had preceded it. He would have thought that this real world would have knocked some sense into them, but he suspected that many of his fellow Faeries had only sunk deeper into their personas.

"These are only my personal observations, I could definitely be wrong." Kirito admitted, grinning sheepishly. "But from the sound of it, you're not so sure one way or another."

Seeking Kirito out had at least confronted him with more difficult questions, the Salamander thought. But they were questions that needed to be asked so that he could find the answers to the bigger question that confronted him.

She didn't love him, but did he love her? Could he? And if he could, was it possible for her to one day love him back?

Those questions would have been a lot easier to answer if those answers weren't needed so urgently.

'That woman.' He thought again. One way or another, they were questions that were worth asking.

"But I think if you really want an answer, it's going to take you and Morgiana-san, and time." The Spriggan decided confidently. "I have absolute faith in my love for Asuna, but it isn't something that just happened." Kirito grimaced as he no doubt relived his own memories, old battles, and struggles in a world that was as removed from this place as it was from modern Japan. "Even though some parts came quickly, we knew each other for nearly two years before these feelings really took shape." The Spriggan stopped talking and shook his head. "So you really need to talk to her rather than me, and find out how she feels about you. Even if it's not love, it'll tell you a lot. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear. It may not be the help you were looking for."

"No." Eugene said, casting his eyes to the ground at his feet. "It's exactly what needed to be said. Thank you." Another glance to the lake proved confirmed that Yui and the Vice Squad Commander were still seated on the dock.

Eugene tried to think of something to say, not knowing many people who had children, even IRL, he was at a loss for the right words. "She seems . . . happy."

Kirito got up to come stand beside him, the young Spriggan barely coming up to the middle of his chest. "Asuna and I have been trying hard to give her a home to thrive in. It's not easy, but I think we're lucky that Yui came to us as a child. If she had been toddler or an infant, neither of us would be ready for that." The young man's smile faded. "I'm actually a little worried about leaving her here in Arrun."

"Concern for her safety?" Eugene asked.

Kirito shook his head. "Her happiness mostly. I feel like she's just got us both back, and now we have to leave her alone again. She hates it more than anything." He chuckled lightly. "But maybe I just hate the idea that there might be a day when she'll _stop_ hating it. At least I know she'll have her aunts, and uncles to watch over her, she won't be all alone, and Asuna says she's been making friends with the other children."

"Is that so?" Eugene nodded his head politely, not letting his eyes leave the girl who, as he watched, let loose with a big yawn before adjusted her grip on the grip and determinedly gone back to her fishing.

Observing her, acknowledging that she was a child, Kirito's child, seemed to solidify what was happening. For the first time, Eugene wondered about the child that Morgiana would give birth to as something other than 'the Child'.

Would it be a boy or a girl? Which of them would it take after? If their new biology was complete, it would probably be a Faerie. Would it be a Spriggan? A Salamander? Mixed? What would they call him, or her? What sort of person would they be?

And a thought that was even more powerful. "I'm going to be a father."

Eugene hadn't considered himself afraid of anything, even death, he didn't have the luxury to be scared when so many people looked to him to be the General of the Salamanders, their champion in battle just as his brother was their Leader. But the idea of a baby was something else entirely.

And then another revelation. "And Morgiana is going to be a mother." The thought sinking in for the first time. Strangely, he wasn't afraid of that one at all. He'd seen too much of Morgiana's demeanor, both on and off of the battlefield. The way that she treated the people around her.

'That woman . . .' He couldn't help but smile. If Kirito was right, than he didn't have anything to fear, Morgiana would love her child and do anything for it.

And whether they loved each other or not, Eugene knew that he would also love their child, and married or not, would be there to help.

"I think that no matter what happens, you'll make a good dad, Eugene." Kirito said without looking away from the lake. His eyes suddenly widened as, down on the docks, Yui perked up, letting out a surprised shout as the fishing rod was nearly yanked from her hands.

"Crap!" Eugene managed to hear before Kirito took a running jump, flashing his wings as he skimmed over the trees and brush. The General was at a loss for what to do save follow.

"Klein!" Kirito shouted as he touched down, foot pounding across the wood deck to where the Vice Squad Commander was lending a helping hand to the little girl who was leaned back precariously with a white knuckled grip on the handle of her fishing rod.

"She's got it!" The self-styled samurai barked, holding on tight to the girl's shoulders.

"Hghn!" Yui heaved back as she fought with the line.

"Careful Yui! You'll lose it!" Kirito took his daughter's hands into his own. "Easier on the line, keep it tense, but let the fish tire itself out!"

Eugene approached slowly, watching the scene unfold.

"No, that's too much give, the hook might come loose if there's play, a little more, that's right!"

Father and daughter watching the water for the first signs. Then. -Splash!- A flash of silver scales in the sunlight.

"Klein, get the net!" Kirito shouted without losing track of the shadow approaching under the water for even one second.

The black swordsman was in his element here, as much as he was in battle, hands moving deftly, assisting the little girl, but never taking the rod from her grip. It was her battle to win or lose, Eugene realized, looking between the two, the Spriggan was just there to lend the strength that his daughter did not possess.

Another splash, the rainbow sheen of scales vanishing beneath the water one last time before being dragged towards the surface, a shadow beneath the surface transformed into a narrow face, two bulging fish eyes, and a small, toothless maw. It wasn't a large catch by any means as it was pulled from the water, but Yui squealed with delight nevertheless.

"Quick, let me grab the measuring tape." Kirito fished around in the wooden tackle box, retrieving a marked ribbon. "Klein, check the book, I think this one is allow, right?"

"It's on the permitted fishing list." Klein confirmed, comparing the fish flopping around on the deck to a page from a loose leaf booklet.

"Size?" Kirito asked, Yui leaning over to watch and to examine her catch.

"Anything over twenty eight centimeters or three kilos."

"Then we're good." The Spriggan hefted the struggling fish, tossing it into a bucket of lake water set aside for just such a purpose before turning back to an excited Yui.

"We caught one! We really caught one!" The look on her face seeming almost surprised.

Kirito shook his head. "I just helped. _You_ caught it Yui." He patted the bucket with a grin. "It's a really good first catch too."

"Really?"

"Really!" The Spriggan laughed. "My first time, I didn't catch anything and grandpa only let me eat the canned vegetables and crackers. What'd you say we cook this one to go with dinner tonight?"

"Un!" Yui nodded eagerly.

Eugene could help but note the feeling between the two of them.

It was a child's victory, and the congratulations from her father were absolutely real, as real as their bond as parent and child.


	12. Chapter 2 Part 5: Tarou and Momoko

So, I'm really not sure if I like how I concluded this. It feels a little too 'neat and convenient' for lack of a better word. Though hopefully its comes off as not fully resolved, as it should.

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 2 - Part 5

"Look at me, I mean, I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this."

Morgiana looked over to the girl at her side, pretty, and young, too young for all of this, Asuna couldn't be much older than seventeen or eighteen, even after everything she'd gone through. What the heck was she thinking?

Some 'Big Sis' she was, Morgiana thought, dumping all of her problems in someone else' lap like this. She hadn't even spilled her guts like this to Shirishi. And to do it in front of a kid, Morgiana wanted to laugh at herself, but she didn't. Asuna hadn't laughed either, or said anything really. That silence had drawn her out, compelled her to keep talking, to fill the void between them with her troubles.

First she'd sort of babbled, and then, as she got her story straight in her own head, the truth had started to come out, the truth she'd been keeping even from herself.

It had all just . . . happened. All the feelings she'd been holding in, bottling up and squeezing tight until they could almost burst, so afraid that they would undo her if they got out, had simply come free at last. It was the first time she'd been without her mask since winding up in this world, and yet she felt somehow at ease, peaceful.

It probably was _because_ she didn't really know Asuna, Morgiana thought. She didn't owe this girl anything, she wasn't _responsible_ for her, it was . . . simple, and Asuna was sympathetic. And right now, she really, _really_ needed simple and sympathetic.

At some point, Asuna had sat down beside her and kicked off her shoes. Now both women were soaking their feet in the shallows of the stream, the small fish that inhabited the calm pools flitting out from hiding places to nibble at their toes.

"It certainly is a difficult situation." The Maeve said at last, voice thoughtful and nonjudgmental, leaning back to look up through the canopy. It was the first time she'd said much at all during their one sided conversation. "A child . . . and marriage. Even just listening about it I'm feeling overwhelmed. But that's alright, you needed to hear yourself say these words, I think."

"Yeah?" Morgiana drew in one leg, hugging it tightly, her cheek resting against her knee. "But I really wish I hadn't. Sorry." The Spriggan woman whispered. No answer from Asuna, simply an encouraging smile, the girl was just waiting to hear what she had to say. 'It's like she already has me figured out.'

"It's just . . ." Morgiana chewed at her lip.

She squeezed her eyes shut, she was so used to thinking in terms of being Morgiana now, someone who was strong, and brave, and much bolder than Momoko had ever been. The sort of person she'd been working hard everyday to become. Then, after spending so much time as that person, it was hard to take a step back and be _herself_ anymore. Where did one start and the other end?

"It was fun, you know?" She gestured vaguely with her free hand. "Playing ALO, being someone else . . ." Morgiana stopped, eyes cast down into the clear water of the stream. "The truth is that for a long time, I didn't like the real me very much."

"Morgiana-san?" Asuna didn't stop her, but her eyes did widen in a small show of alarm.

"Don't worry." Morgiana grinned ruefully. "I decided a long time ago to be a better person, even if it was hard and I only made a little progress everyday." Some days she'd even slipped and fallen. "It was just . . . I felt like there was all this built up momentum I was working against. People don't always like it when you try to change who you are." Like her parents . . .

"But then I jumped into full dive gaming, and it was like a completely different world that I could go to. I'd never felt so free before in my life." And that freedom had given her a place to act out the sort of person she wanted to be, until the Transition that was. "Then, all of this happened and . . ." She stopped.

The day the Transition had hit, the Kurotaka had been planning their big Jotunheim raid, part of a series quests to defeat one of the Frost Giant Tribes and obtain more rare drops to gear up for the Grand Quest. It seemed so long ago now, the light hearted atmosphere as they got ready to go kick butt and take names.

Shirishi had been joking with her and Marina, Drake was threatening anyone who attempted to Leeroy their carefully laid plans. Almost fifty ash skinned Spriggans had been gathered up in the room, either surrounding the maple table or watching from the balconies.

It had been just like any other day, until it wasn't anymore.

Morgiana's experience with the Transition had been the same as everyone else, the world pausing around her, and then a whole lot of bright and pain.

Waking up with a cotton headed feeling, like a bad hangover. Finding Drake and Shirishi passed out along with everyone else in the Guild Hall's great room, finding out that the menu wasn't working, that she couldn't call the GMs to get an explanation for what had happened . . . that she couldn't log out, _and neither could anyone else_.

Morgiana remembered the familiar, and at the same time alien, sensation of her stomach doing flip flops, not realizing at the time that it really was her guts worming around inside of her flesh and blood body. What had happened? What _could_ have happened?

Momoko knew about the SAO incident. She'd read up on the web when Shirishi had first introduced her to Full Dive Gaming. The ten thousand players who had been taken hostage by a madman, trapped in the game under pain of death by what was essentially a microwave gun strapped to their foreheads.

Even though Momoko had seen it in the news when it had happened, it still seemed so completely surreal, she'd half thought it had to be a hoax. Shirishi had assured her that it was real.

Because of that research, Momoko had also known that a repeat of the SAO incident was considered impossible. With the recall of the Nerve Gear, its replacement console, the AMUsphere, had been designed to incorporate both software and physical safeties that would make another SAO incident impossible, even to the point of sacrificing immersion for the sake of safety.

That had been a hollow comfort to Momoko as she'd traded looks with a dazed Drake and an already nervous Shirishi. She'd seen it on their faces, in all of them, the seed of fear that was already bubbling to the surface. And she'd seen them all turning to her, as if it was their first instinct.

She was their Faction Leader, Momoko had realized with dread, and more importantly, she was their Guild Leader, the one who had brought them together for the simple joy of experiencing this world. Their fearless 'Big Sis' who was at the head of every Raid, who had faced down General Eugene of the Salamanders, and outfoxed Lord Rute of the Leprechauns, laughing all the way.

Momoko had stood transfixed, faced down by their fearful eyes, looking for someone, _anyone_ to give them courage. The surreal sensation, like it all had to be a dream. But it felt so . . . _real_.

She'd done the only thing she could think to do at that moment, put on the spot, she'd taken the first step down her path. Honestly, it had felt like someone else had been moving her body while Momoko just watched. Hefting her Jotun Spear and plastering her face with a look of calm confidence.

When she'd started talking, handing out instructions, people had looked at her like she was insane. People also tended to let crazy amazon women with giant spears finish talking.

She still sort of remembered what she'd said, for all that she hadn't been in her right mind at the time, but most of the rest of that day had been a blur of quarreling, screaming, and even a few physical confrontations.

She'd had to shout a few people down, she'd had to knock a few more upside the head. She must have managed somehow, because she made it through the first day without the mask ever slipping. Even when she'd seen the blood, even when she'd seen the corpses.

The next thing she remembered clearly was sitting on the edge of her bed so late at night that it was almost morning, shaking as the adrenaline faded from her veins, leaving her body feeling miserable and exhausted. Her flesh and blood body, her Faerie body, she'd thought as she touched a finger to her wrist and felt the steady beating of her own heart. She'd trembled as she'd touched her own face, the unfamiliar contours of features she had not been born with.

By then, they'd known the real horror of what had happened to them. But by then, it had been too late to stop. Frighteningly, it had seemed like Morgiana had taken on a life of her own, and Momoko had been helpless to do anything but go along for the ride.

"They needed me . . ." Morgiana repeated softly. "They needed their fearless Lord so badly. Morgiana the Phantom Queen." She choked out a laugh. She'd thought the epitaph had been really cool in ALO. "And now . . . the truth is, I'm scared to stop. I don't . . . I don't want them to think differently of me."

She didn't want them to see the scared and weak woman that she really was.

She'd just never counted on a pregnancy, or a marriage. That wasn't what Morgiana was, it wasn't what she was _supposed _to be, and like a thread picked loose, it had caught and started to pull and unravel the whole rest of the thing. If she'd known what was good for her, she would have stopped, but she just _couldn't_.

'I'm being selfish.' Morgiana thought.

"They're . . . being very selfish." Asuna said.

"Huh?" Morgiana's head snapped up.

"Un." Asuna nodded once, and resumed her soft smile. "They're expecting too much from just one person. Spriggans sure are greedy." The smile dropped a little. "For a while in SAO, I made that sort of mistake and thought that just because people were relying on me, that I wasn't allowed to live for myself as well. I don't know you very well Morgiana-san, but you don't seem like you want to be the sort of person who protects people just because it's expected of you."

"No." Morgiana agreed. "I don't. I want to protect them because its what _I_ expect of me. That's why I've been able to fight like I have. But . . ." She placed a hand once again to her stomach. "A baby just wasn't in the cards. And neither was getting married. Those are supposed to be happy things." They were supposed to be something you were careful with, and cherished. More importantly, they were things that were supposed to happen to _Momoko_ not her other self. "All of the fighting, and killing. None of us are really safe. How can I bring a child into this world?"

It was _cruel, _Morgiana thought. But the only other option was . . . No . . . She gave a firm mental head shake. She would _not_ do that to her unborn child. Anything but that.

Then, a thought. "How do you manage it? With Yui, I mean?" She knew it wasn't the same thing, the little Maeve girl was far from being a normal child, but Asuna was far from being a normal mother.

Asuna frowned thoughtfully. "I can't really say. I don't think its fair to compare one to the other, Kirito and I took Yui-chan in under completely different circumstances." The girl beside her recalled thoughtfully. "She just needed us so badly. But at the same time, she's so independent that our problems probably aren't like normal parents." Asuna gazed down at her feet, wriggling her toes to scare off the fish. "The truth is that, although I consider myself Yui-chan's mother, there are a lot of things I can't do for her yet. I'm scared sometimes that I won't be ready to really give her what she needs."

"Oh." Morgiana paused, well, it had been worth a shot.

But Asuna wasn't finished just yet. "I think the most important thing, is making sure that your child is loved, completely, no matter who they are or how you meet them. I can't speak for you or your child, Morgiana-san, but I think that because this world is so harsh, it would be too sad if a child wasn't welcomed into it with love. You should talk to Eugene-san. I'm sure he's thinking about the same things as you."

Morgiana nodded without saying a word. The problem was, she really didn't want to talk to him right now. After saying something like 'I don't love you'. It seemed like she needed to give the air time to clear. Maybe in the morning it would be alright to talk? She thought she could manage that. But she wasn't even sure if she was _able_ to love someone like that.

Asuna smiled wanly, "I'm sorry, now I'm the one giving you trouble."

"No." Morgiana grinned. "No, it's alright. What you said is probably true." She appraised the girl carefully once more. "You're a good a kid, you know that? Kirito found himself a good girl. Thanks though, for listening to my troubles. It's not your job to have to hear it."

"But I don't mind." The Maeve girl drew her feet from the water and began to climb to her feet, offering Morgiana a helping hand. "I have to get back home to start on dinner but . . ." Asuna nodded " . . . Maybe it's a little sudden, but if you'd like, we always have room for another guest, we can keep talking if you want."

"A dinner invitation?"

"Un." Asuna agreed. "I promise to make it good. And I'll make sure its healthy for you and the baby."

The other option was to head back to her place, where _someone_ was bound to be waiting. She just needed a little more time to think.

Morgiana grinned. "Now you're just _trying_ to get me to like you."

Going with Asuna turned out to be the right decision, the home she shared with her family was pretty much in the exact opposite direction of her own place, on one of the decidedly more quiet side streets. Chances were good that if any of her little crows were flocking around, they wouldn't think to check here.

It wasn't the first time the Morgiana had stepped foot in a kitchen since the Transition, but it was the first that she'd been in that looked so well used. Like a restaurant, or maybe a gastronomy lab she'd seen on TV.

"It's a hobby of mine." Asuna supplied simply. "I like the challenge, and I think its sort of relaxing."

"Ever thought of going into business?" Morgiana ran a finger across the spotless counter top. "People are making good money at it right now." Introducing ALfheim's menu to the Nobility of Tristain.

Asuna had shaken her head. "I think having to make things off of a menu day in and day out would make it too boring. I really only like doing it for friends and family." She explained, setting down her shopping bag and laying out ingredients. "Let's see, Liz is going to be here too, so that five people." The Maeve looked up at Morgiana. "Uhm . . ."

"Just point me at what you need." Morgiana said, accepting a pairing knife and a bunch of green onions.

The joy of cooking, it felt a lot less glamorous without all of the modern conveniences, magic made up for some of it, teamwork had to fill in for the rest. And like Asuna had said, it gave them time to finish their talk, and their hands something to do in the meantime.

"Love?" Asuna asked as she looked up from the saucepan. "You mean, how I fell in love with Kirito-kun?"

"Just seems to me like we have a lot of the same problems." Morgiana finished chopping, setting the vegetables aside. "You barely even knew him, right?"

"Hmm . . ." Asuna stirred the contents of the pan and then sampled some to buy herself time. "People have asked me that question a lot, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This is my second experience with it, so maybe that's why I'm more accepting. Morgiana-san?" The Maeve who was at least half a decade her junior met her eyes seriously. "You may not love him, but you at least like Eugene-san, right?"

She had to ask it like that of course. Morgiana squirmed, and cursed her own weakness for the heat that was rising to her cheeks. "What kind of question is that?" It was totally unfair was what it was! "I . . ." She stopped, took a breath. "I don't _hate _him, okay?" She admitted.

It definitely didn't hurt that she found him _extremely_ attractive as a Salamander. Not that it would have mattered much without his other qualities.

She liked the fact that he got a rush out of challenging himself. She liked that he bought into the whole proud warrior ideal, heart and soul. She even liked the fact that he was so serious all the time. He didn't take anything for granted, and that had included her, it actually made her feel, she wasn't sure, sort of . . . special.

Meanwhile, all she could do was make light of everything so that she didn't just break and cry. Eugene didn't need to lean on anyone else. That was real strength.

'I can't get close to him, or he'll see how weak I am.' How could she love him if she couldn't even connect with him?

"Yeah, I like him." It hurt to admit, but she really did. She admired him at least. "But how do I know there isn't something off about him?" This was someone who was going to have a role in her child's life, in _their_ child's life, maybe in _her _life too.

Angsting about it so much made hearing Asuna laugh at the question sort of jarring. "I used to think things like that about Kirito-kun all the time." Asuna said mirthfully, she made room for Morgiana to help her with the noodles she was laying out. "I always saw him and thought 'What a suspicious person', I was sure he never took anything seriously and that he was really a bit weird, but . . ." Her hair rippled as she shook her head. "Even thought I didn't learn much about his past, I learned a lot about his character."

"Isn't that being a little idealistic?" Morgiana questioned, just because you though you knew someone, didn't make it true. She guessed she could talk to Mort to make sure everything was on the level. But that was like saying that she couldn't trust Eugene either.

"Maybe." Asuna admitted. "Maybe I'm just young and lack experience." She mused idly as she began to ladle the dipping sauce into bowls so that it could cool. "Kirito-kun and I met each other, and eventually, we fell in love. I guess one day we might fall out of love, but . . . I'm sorry, I don't have a very good imagination, because even though I know it might happen, I really can't see it." Then her smile widened until it could have lit the room all on its own. "Because even though I don't like everything about Kirito-kun, I love the person he is, and the person that he wants to be equally."

"Maybe you and Eugene-san really don't love each other, but you at least like and respect each other. And maybe I can only say this because it's not my decision, but even if it makes thing harder, if you don't think its the right thing, you should not marry Eugene-san."

The problem was, she _did_ think it was the right thing. She knew that marrying Eugene would make most of the trouble go away, she knew that Eugene would love their child just like she would, and she knew that they could at least tolerate each other, assuming she hadn't completely screwed everything up with her little admission.

It was only her own hang ups that were in the way. Morgiana noted that the Maeve had stopped very abruptly. "I'm sensing another 'but'."

"Un." Asuna nodded firmly. "But more importantly, for you and Eugene-san, even if it doesn't happen quickly, don't let this change whether or not you can love him." Something serious took hold in Asuna's eyes. "More than anything, I think you would regret it."

Don't let it change whether or not she could love him?

She had a hard time admitting she could 'like' him, much less love him. Taking her time, and letting it flow naturally, that sounded nice, but just how long would that even take? And how was she even supposed to find out if this wedding idea was being stuffed down her throat by the other Lords.

The sound of a bell chime alerted them that someone had just arrived. Asuna peered out the kitchen window at the still light, but steadily darkening sky. "That must be Kirito-kun. He and Klein took Yui-chan fishing today. I'm sure they'll want to have their catch with dinner tonight to celebrate. Ah, could you grab the tea please?"

"Sure thing," the Spriggan answered thoughtlessly.

Morgiana grabbed a tray loaded with a pitcher of barley tea and the cups that the Maeve had set out, following Asuna back to the living room . . .And nearly dropping the whole platter when she saw the man stopping through the front door.

Looming behind the Spriggan Kirito and the Maeve Yui, Eugene swept the living room like he was inspecting a barracks.

Morgiana's first instinct was to dive back through the door to the kitchen and make her escape, but before she had a chance, she was spotted.

"Morgiana?" Just the slightest hint of surprise before it disappeared behind that stoic expression.

The Lady of the Spriggan's stopped in her tracks and refused to look him in the eye. Asuna and Kirito exchanged heated whispers, looked like they didn't known anything about this, meanwhile, Eugene held his ground, or maybe he was just as frozen as her.

'What do I do?' Just as bad as it had been earlier in the day. "What are you . . ." She started to say.

"What are . . ." Eugene tried to say back. They were both stuck now.

"Ah, Morgiana-san, I'm sorry, about this." Asuna tried to come to the rescue. "It seems that Kirito-kun met Gene-san down at the lake and invited him to dinner. I just hope that it's okay with you." The Maeve wrung her hands nervously.

"I . . . can you . . ." Morgiana began.

"I don't wish to spoil your night. I'd like to speak with Morgiana, alone, and then take my leave. Can you give us a moment." Eugene finished for her.

The Spriggan-Maeve couple looked first to Eugene and then back to Morgiana. "That was supposed to be my line." The Spriggan woman breathed.

This was going to happen, she thought, there was no more putting it off. So why did she feel relieved?

Putting down the tray and following him to the door. Asuna gave her a small nod of encouragement. For some reason, the gesture meant a lot to her.

It was still hot outside, even though the sun was setting. The local insects were preparing for the night, deep throated chirps and clicking noises faintly audible on the front porch of the Kirigaya residence.

Morgiana expected Eugene to start talking right away, but he didn't, he stayed back, gave her space to pace about, let her get comfortable. "So . . ." Morgiana said when she was ready.

"So." Eugene echoed, slowly taking a breath, an action that was more like a volcano stirring from dormancy. "I want to apologize for this morning." He raised a hand to ward off her reply. "I was unfair to you in front of my brother. Rather . . . I was unfair to you."

The giant of a Salamander bowed his head. "Morgiana, whatever your decision, I will abide by it. All I can ask, is that you don't let this drive a wedge between us."

Eugene brought his head back up so that he could meet her with violet eyes. "There is nothing more I would want in this world than the chance to know you better."

"For what it's worth." He reached out with his right hand, taking her left, and raising it between them. "Fujioka Tarou," Morgiana's eyes went wide, "I'm the brother of Fujioka Katsuo, twenty seven years old."

Morgiana blinked quickly as she digested what he'd just said.

"I know it isn't much. But I hope it can be a start." He fell silent, waiting patiently for her answer.

The Spriggan shook her head. If he was willing to make the effort, why not? "Mirai Momoko, I'm twenty three years old. It's a pleasure to meet you Fujioka-san."

Here it was, one way or another, she had to make the right choice. "I've been thinking a lot since this morning, and . . . I still can't say that I love you, or that I can ever love you . . ." She confessed, wincing as she saw the pain in his eyes, it had never really occurred to her that she might mean more to him than he did to her. "I'm sorry. That's my fault, not yours. But . . ."

It hung in the air, the words that she was about to say. She could just shut her mouth now, apologize, and go back inside. She could keep pretending, keep hiding inside of her own head, or she could live up to the person she was trying to be. "I think it would be wrong if I didn't find out."

He blinked rapidly, she took one step, then another, coming to stand a scant handful of centimeters apart. She was a hundred and eight three centimeters tall, she knew down to the centimeter from the character editor, but he still had a good two tenths of a meter on her.

"Now, please listen, because this is probably the most important thing I can say . . ." She crossed her arms. "This whole crazy thing. I want to do what's best." Morgiana said quietly. "Even if what's best right now isn't what I want for myself. I don't even know one way or another."

"Morgiana . . ."

"_Listen_." The Spriggan woman growled again. "_If_ I marry you. It will be because I

think it's the right thing to do. Because it's what I think I _should_ do. Not your brother, not Sakuya, not the other Lords." She pressed a finger into the center of his chest, eyes shinning up at him. "Not even you. Even if all of you are right. It's _my _choice and I'll make it thinking about everyone and everything."

The Faeries, her kids, her child, and _herself_.

Thinking about what really mattered, her sacrifices felt so small. 'And he's sacrificing a lot too.' Morgiana thought. She'd never seen Eugene look scared before.

Did she love him? No. But she did like him. Maybe that could be a start. But not if she she let anyone else force her into this, then she'd hate it. That was why it had to be something she did of her own free will.

Eugene closed his eyes, nodding solemnly. "Whatever you decide, I swear to support it." She could depend on him, she knew that right down to the core.

"Good." Morgiana bit her lip. That's what she wanted to hear. "Then, if you think it's the right thing too, and only if you think its the right thing, Eugene, Tarou-san," she took his hand, a big paw that made her own seem dainty in comparison, and squeezed as she shut her eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

The silence that followed could have meant anything. In fact, it left Morgiana feeling like she was drifting through empty space as she waited and waited . . .

The hand that took her own and squeezed back was warm, and dry, the rough callouses strangely comforting even as she prayed she wouldn't end up regretting this like she knew she would.

"I would be honored, Momoko-san."


	13. Chapter 3 Part 1: An Entry With a Boom

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 3 – Part 1

Shiori, formerly the male hacker Shirotaka Akira in the game of ALO and now three Cait Syth Girls in the real world of Halkegenia, slept and dreamed, curled up with herself, while she was otherwise keeping watch . . . by herself.

If it sounded hard, that was because it _was_. The other two were asleep and their dreams, and exhaustion, piled up on the one of her staying awake like stones stacked on a raft, but it was what it was.

Not that she wasn't resting as well, curled up with her other two, but the airship was still fully crewed, she was hiding out after all and being fully unconscious, however much easier it might have been, was simply not going to happen with that many enemies in close proximity.

That thought was skin crawlingly creepy and she suppressed it with an effort of will, before it invaded her others's dreams.

This body had taken her own nap earlier, such as it was, only one instead of two sleeping wasn't exactly easy either, as the awareness of the other two being awake kept intruding, but that was the way it had to be.

It had been two days of hiding and sneaking around on the ship, not easy on a crewed vessel, even in the dark and with their stealth skills, and now their destination was near, at last, near enough for what they would be doing. They _did_ need the ship to still be fully rigged for sale after all.

Tonight, the ship would reach Kingsford On Hull, where it would offload its cargo of gunpowder purchased from Gallia to assist in fueling Reconquista's war effort.

She let her eyes close a moment and snuggled close to the rest of her, listening less to the rest of the ship and more to the unified beat of her three hearts. She found their synchronicity incredibly comforting, like a lullaby that was just for her.

She tried very hard not to think, it was something she was slowly mastering when she had to keep one of herself awake while the others slept, because if she didn't, her thoughts would invade their dreams, and none of the thoughts she was having now would make for anything less than nightmares.

For the consciousness that had once been Akira Shirotaka, being reborn as Shiori had been a wonder in many ways, and Akira was very far from horrified by being what she was now, despite the change in gender.

Being able to _fly,_ and _fight_, and use _magic_, becoming super-humanly _fast_ and _strong_, had made up for nearly every conceivable inconvenience.

Okay, loosing her masculinity.

She snorted. As if a fifteen year old shut in hacker had _masculinity._

Being at the bottom of the hierarchy of 'kids bullies can casually abuse' and being rather more of the nail that stuck out than not did not give Akira a positive view of his former gender, or much of an attachment to it for that matter.

Akira had been playing the game as three cat girls to begin with. _Voluntarily_.

She was determined to adapt and not to care.

Just . . . doing so was turning out to be hard. Possibly even three times as hard.

The hacked gender-switched avatars Akira had put together, that had been a pain in itself, editing together and adapting an absurd amount of code from all over the net, had simulated sensory input just about as well as they could, so the reality of suddenly _being_ three girls wasn't quite as baffling as it could have been.

But that simulation was only approximate, and didn't appear to include important things like her constant impulse to pounce and _obliterate_ anything and everything that contrived to look too much like 'prey'. That probably wasn't a normal Cait Syth instinct; Or rather, it probably was, just . . . turned up very high by the way she'd tuned her three avatars' stats. A trio of little predators, that been perfectly tailored, _born_ to hunt and kill.

And multiplied by three, because if any one of her felt it, shortly enough, the other two were aware there was helpless 'prey' _right there_.

At least she didn't seem to be having too many issues with killing, she was able to control the impulse with innocent people, even the ones who pissed her off, and with people who weren't innocent, well . . . The nightmares about the way the bandits she'd killed had gurgled and died had only happened a couple of times and been pretty mild, really.

The other feelings, urges, came and went from time to time were a tangle, because contrary to what they thought ought to be the case she couldn't actually tell half the time what those feelings were. The difference between attraction, confusion, excitement, anger, outrage, hate, arousal, exhilaration and simple physical delight in being as capable as they were now blurred together at the best of times.

Since they were already stressed enough with missing home and worrying about how Nanami would take their disappearance, they tended to default to assuming the urge was to retaliate even if there wasn't anything to retaliate for or, for that matter, _against_.

At least she'd realized it was happening before they'd cut anyone's face off for being pretty . . . which circled right back to the issue at hand.

Her other two stirred from sleep to wakefulness at the reminder of what time it was getting, and they were all startled, it was time already? But the light of the moon no longer crept in through the porthole of their hiding place, so it was.

"Are we really going to do this?" She asked herselves and got nearly identical, eager looks back from the other two, and the other two . . . and the other two as she saw through three sets of eyes, because it seemed they were. Of course they were, they were all herself, after all.

When Lady Alicia Rue had so graciously given them tacit permission to lash out against Reconquista, they hadn't left Tristain immediately; They'd listened, and looked, and asked the right questions to get a good picture of what was going on, and that had been enough to both inflame their initial outrage, and make them worry for the rest of . . . Everyone. Everyone Fae, at least.

She'd discovered at the same time that while she felt next to nothing about executing bandits, she really did feel a kinship with the rest of the player base. However much she might have ganked them before this becoming real, that had been entertainment, Trolling type entertainment, yes, but however much she might have enraged playes in PvP it had been, if not the spirit of fun, then more or less the spirit of competition.

She'd definitely never taken one of their lives.

The thought of someone bringing a war to them, of driving them off the only familiar land they had, out into this new world, lost, or since she couldn't bring herself to trust the word of anyone who would make zombies at all, probably just waging a war of extermination.

It made her mad, it made her hackles rise, and her ears press flat against her skulls.

"It makes us want to get to work." Their mage, well, they were all mages, but with only one artifact level mage staff between them, and no way to hack their stats equal anymore, 'Mahou Shoujou' Shiori was pretty much going to be their high magic specialist from here on out, said softly and got an agreeing nod from the rest of her.

"We have to do our part." Her third self said softly. "Asuna-sama's people were already in the thick of it. We get to help this time." She meditated on that thought, this time, she wasn't powerless, far from it, this time, she wasn't the one standing blindly on the outside, praying for a miracle.

A short minute later, Shiori stood in the center of the cargo hold of the Brimir's Bounty and laid her ears flat in concentration as she leaned on her nameless staff.

It was an artifact, but frankly she thought the in-game name was stupid, and simply wasn't going to use it. For her purposes, it was 'the Nameless Staff' now and forevermore.

They could be kind of picky about names. Their name, for that matter. It hadn't taken very long for her to come to a consensus about their name. They were 'Shiori' and anyone who didn't like using that name for all three of them could just get bent.

Or, if they were obnoxious enough about it, get thrashed. Idiots did rather make them itch to demonstrate their displeasure.

They'd be rather happy to.

Just now, however, she wasn't particularly happy. Intent. Grim. Focused, because what she was doing wasn't something to do casually, but it would nevertheless be done.

So, while most of the ship slept, only a few lookouts on duty, Shiori set her will, cleared one of her minds of everything but the spell, and began to chant.

It was rather simple magic, really, a sleep spell, used to subdue mobs and low level players, but what she was doing now wasn't quite so simple.

It was 'easy' in the sense that doing it once was easy, but she wasn't doing it once.

No, she repeated it, over and over, going through the spell as quickly as possible, eight second chants, blanketing the whole ship except for the other two of her, who were immune both by level and by protective gear.

The moment she started her chant the other two Shiori moved. Silently, effortlessly, and very quickly. Oh, and lethally.

It really was almost demeaningly easy. No one so much as twitched and the two of her doing the cutting shared the thought that they need not have bothered with the enforced slumber tactic for this lot.

Probably. But they weren't taking any chances, not with their lives, and they hit the ships mages first, two black clad winds of steel descending on each in turn, their artifact level blades chopped right through the light leather of the one still in fighting gear as if it were air.

The daggers Nidhoggr's Fangs and the short sword Unseen Moon were collectively the highest level of stealth type burst dps weaponry ALO had to offer, customized as much as possible in the game, and in a real world they were very, very, very deadly weapons and the man may have been on watch, but he was at least partially effected by their third sister's spells.

Certainly he never managed to get off one of his own, and all told, it took rather less than half an hour for Brimir's Bounty to be completely reduced to a Ghost Ship.

Which was good, because the crew would never have allowed the next thing they intended at all.

* * *

Kingsford on Hull.

How long had it been since she'd last set foot in this place? Matilda, once future Lady Saxe Gotha, wondered as she leaned across the railing close to the bow of the carrier on which she had secured passage, a fast little brig named the _Iceni_ that was flagged out of Gallia.

She was rigged mid ship, like most Continental vessels, leaving the forward deck more or less open so long as the crew were not otherwise occupied with tying the sails or otherwise handling the ship under bad weather. It gave Matilda something resembling privacy, and a chance to herself.

The magician thief closed her eyes, feeling the night winds whip at her cheeks and play at a few loose strands of soft green hair, and she remembered.

It must have been . . . over a decade ago now, of course, back when she'd walked in the light as a member of the House of Saxe Gotha. She'd been foolish and empty headed back then, only knowing that she was born to nobility, and loved deeply by her mother and great father.

Back then, she had accompanied her parents on a tour of the Port Cities, when she had first seen Kingsford on Hull, looking out from her cabin window with sleepy eyes, it had looked much like this.

Even on a moonslit night, the port city was like a colony of fireflies sprawled along the cliff faces and coastal planes of Albion, its defining feature, an awesome Yggdrasil Ash Oak, the smaller sister to the one at the summit of La Rochelle, sprawling at the port's heart, its branches strewn with ships and and docking cradles that glowed and flickered like giant lanterns.

As a little girl, barely experienced with flying, she'd thought they'd discovered Medb's Faerie Castle on the border of the clouds. Now she knew better that the place was perfectly mundane, and like all places, its pretty facade hid a much uglier, and more interesting, underbelly.

"Miss? Excuse me Miss."

"Hmm?" Matilda did not welcome the diversion in the least, but she wasn't here to enjoy herself. Back to work.

The man approaching her was the Captain of the _Iceni_, Jacques-Francis Mollier, a whip thin and gaunt fellow who had not seemed in good health back in La Rochelle, the pale moonslight did him no favors, visage verging on that of a corpse. But, Matilda had discovered that despite appearances, he was decent enough, as Captains went.

Pleasant enough company and quite the earnest Gentleman, far more enjoyable to be around than the rest of the passengers, and everything she'd stolen from him had been honestly won by hands of Crown.

More importantly, he was braving the La Rochelle to Kingsford run, despite the rumors of a devilishly swift privateer lurking the skies under the employ of Tristain. That spoke volumes about him, either his bravery, or his intelligence.

"Miss, you need to step down from there now. The men need to get at the riggings, and we can't have you in the way in these winds. The deck's no place for someone not accustomed to the skies . . . "

He stopped as Matilda stepped down and spun about, walking casually back toward him with an amused smile, she made a show of the way she walked a straight and narrow line. Once she got her air legs back, accustomed to the buffeting and turbulence, this sort of thing was easy.

"Ah, my apologies Miss." He gave a small bow. "A frequent traveler? I should have realized when you booked passage, Miss Joplin."

Matilda offered an authentic sounding bark of laughter. "It's quite alright, my Father did teach me a thing or two when we last made the journey together." Father had known his way about a ship, as had many of the thieves, fathers of a different sort, that she had learned from over the years.

"Hard to imagine such a man letting his daughter travel in these troubled times." Mollier's perennial frown deepened. He no doubt suspected she was not telling the truth, but that was more of a safe bet really, she wasn't the only passenger, and to be honest, none of them were telling more than harmless half truths.

Even in War, there were people who had business in Albion. Not all of it Mercenary either.

"Father passed away quite some time ago, him and mother. I am the only one left to see to the family affairs. And besides . . . " Matilda opened her cloak to show the wand holstered there, reminding the master of the Iceni that she could perfectly well take care of herself. " . . . I'm hardly defenseless, Sir."

"Of course." Mollier agreed, patting down his own coat in search of a small, hand carved pipe, he gestured back towards the ladder to below deck, the light of the lanterns flickering up through the open hatch, warm and inviting compared to the pale light of the moons and cold of the sky

"We'll be making port before the end of the night, you can be sure. You'll be sleeping in a still bed tonight, Miss Joplin. Assuming we aren't tangled up till morning at the port."

Matilda knew bad news when she heard it, her ears perked. As a thief, it had only taken one close call, and the broken arm it had produced, to teach her to keep her ears open, always. "Trouble with the Harbor Masters?" She asked quite casually, and not at all with a hint of concern.

Mollier scowled. "Nothing that hasn't been our bane in the past." He grumbled darkly. "But with the Fairfolk, there's been rumor of illicit trade being had, even in the heart of Londinium."

"Oh my!" Matilda brought a hand over her mouth, hiding an amused smile.

It was possible that some of those items had been among the trinkets she'd liberated from Arrun. Nothing too dangerous, trinkets mostly, Matilda knew from casual interrogation of the little firebox that had been following Professor Colbert all about for the past few weeks. She wasn't about to compromise the Kingdom she meant to hide her precious sister in after all.

"As I hear it, it's been quite the problem." Mollier continued as he took to walking at her side. "Lord Cromwell has made it one of the first edicts of his Church to outlaw the sale of Faerie goods, and has dispatched the Army to see it done."

Which probably meant he was stockpiling them for himself, Matilda thought. How very Tudorish of him. As they said, meet the New King, much as the Old King.

"I do hope it doesn't prove a problem." Matilda breathed softly as she held a hand to her chest. "I am expected home quite soon, or else my sister will be beside herself with worry." That wasn't a lie.

They had plans in place for if something ever happened to her, Matilda had decided on that a long time ago, but they weren't plans she was eager to see put into play.

A small look of sympathy grew on Captain Mollier's skull like visage. "It shouldn't be any trouble. The Iceni's cargo is simple grain, purchased in Gallia. We've nothing to hide, and besides, we frequent this port often enough to be known as an honest ship."

That was true enough, Matilda knew. A thief knew a thief, or a smuggler, at least, when she saw one. She'd made a point of avoiding those sorts of ships for the outbound leg of her journey, she didn't need to be caught in a net meant for someone else. As Mollier said, the _Icen_i was exactly what she appeared to be, an honest ship. As honest as a ship sailing for Albion could be, in any case.

"I'm frankly more concerned with those military escorts that have been filling up the ports." Mollier went on as they climbed down the steps. "I can't say I blame them for feeling insecure, after that fiasco at York. Tristain could have sacked the whole City. A wonder they could restrain those vicious creatures they're allying with. No doubt thanks to that hero they sent to keep them in check."

"Oh?" Matilda sounded partly interested, she already knew the whole story of course, told by 'vicious' Faeries recounting it in the taverns of Arrun, and more clinically by Enya as she read one of the Faerie 'papers' out loud for the benefit of Professor Colbert.

"It's a blessing really that they simply made off with the cannons, the way the other Captain's tell it." Mollier said. "I can't say I believe everything about those creatures, but the word from the navy sailors is that they brought a black winged demon with them, some sort of monster that disguised itself before and after the battle in the skin of a raven haired beauty."

"How horrible." Matilda said, not because she much cared, it was simply what she was expected to say.

"Since then, the Army has been a right bundle of nerves. And . . . These new soldiers . . ." The Captain fidgeted with his pipe, at last stuffing the gnarled little thing into his mouth. "You should take care, this isn't the old King's army." She stopped in the passageway, turning so quickly to Mollier that the stick of a man nearly fumbled his pipe.

"I'll be traveling some ways inland." She told him, keeping things vague. "Do you know if there will be a problem?"

The Captain was long in responding, gnawing on his pipe before coming to a decision. "It's the Free Companies you've got to worry about, and bandits in the hinter regions. If they wear a proper uniform and carry the banner of Lord Cromwell's legions, then they're most likely former Army." The Captain tapped the end of his pipe, and without another word, Matilda lit the tip with her wand.

Taking a long pull, Mollier sighed. "Much better." He muttered. "As I was saying, you should have no trouble from the army proper. Lord Cromwell is a righteous man and does not tolerate misconduct from his personal soldiers. The last lot who thought they could rape and pillage in the name of the Good Lord Cromwell found their heads on pikes outside the gates of Londinium. Likewise, the Dragon Knights and their auxiliaries can be trusted, they still uphold their duty as protectors of the Kingdom."

The Captain gave Matilda hard look. "But be wary of the free companies, and the armies of the Peers. The Good Lord Cromwell has had to deal generously with them to regain some semblance of order and they've been running their personal fiefs freely now that the King has passed."

Matilda nodded once, it was the sort of advice she needed to hear before setting foot on Albionian soil once more. As much as she hated to admit it, the Tyrant king had probably done wonders for the White Isldes stability. At least people had known the pecking order and destructive ambition had been kept in check.

"Well then," she started to reply, "I'm grateful for your warning, Captain." She gave a small hint of a bow. "I'll be sure to keep it well in mind once we . . ."

Her thanks were cut off mid word by a trembling that shook the passageway, the whole ship, followed by a concussion that rocked the hull of the _Iceni_ like a giant batting at a gnat. Matilda shot out a hand, grabbing hold of an overhead beam to arrest herself before she was thrown into the bulkhead like the surprised Captain.

She didn't even have time to ask what had happened before they were shaken again, shaken about inside the passage by a mighty aftershock that left the floorboards rattling and great beams of the ship's hull groaning, a noise that was lost a moment later in a deep throated roar, only partly muted by the bulkheads surrounding them.

All other thoughts forgotten, save for survival, the thief grabbed Mollier by the shoulder and pulled. "Captain!" She shouted at the dazed man, looking frantically to and fro. "Captain, snap out of it!"

"What the devil!" The master of the _Iceni_ nearly spat out his pipe. Shouts from the deck above had grabbed his attention now, and without regard for Matilda, he ran for the ladder, his passenger following close behind.

When they got to the deck, they found nothing resembling order, men were running to and fro, grabbing hold of lines, some of which had come suddenly, and violently loose, others, Matilda realized, were safety lines, at the end of which crew were dangling like fresh cuts of meat, blown over the edge by whatever giant's fit had managed to batter over a thousand tons of airship.

Had it been turbulence? A rogue wind?

"Founder!"

The soft spoken voice of the Captain got her attention where the shouts and cries failed. She turned to see what he was looking at, and felt her own heart rattle to a stop. "Founder." Matilda whispered.

It had been over in the breadth of a heartbeat, not much longer than a thunderclap, but the force had been so great that even now, the aftermath endured, the fading glow of flames painted the mists of Albion like a blood red sea, smoke rising, and then beginning to fall as it cooled in the damp air before reaching the top of the cliffs.

"What . . ." She began.

"Powder explosion." Captain Mollier said quietly, regaining some of his composure, even as he worried furiously at his pipe. "Only thing it could be, ship must have brewed up on its way into port. Lucky, that it looks to have been riding low, crew must have been trying to take her under the Isle before she blew, would have been a devil if that had gone up in the harbor."

A devil? The young thief's face paled.

The City of Kingsford was still there, its many lights aglow, as if nothing at all had happened. But not all were unscathed, smoke rose among the mists, the sinking shapes of a pair of smoldering vessels, ships that had been far enough to escape being blasted to kindling, but too near to survive, they were beginning to break apart, even as she watched, their ballasting engines tearing free from weakened hulls. It was doubtful that there would be survivors. They couldn't have been the only ones.

Matilda knew the distances that ships moved at, if those two vessels had been caught in the blast then . . . If that had hit the port . . . She shivered as her eyes fell on the intact and welcoming branches of the Harbor tree, and the thousands of lives that sheltered in its shadow.

Then, another thought came to mind. This could not be coincidence.

"Well then, Miss Matilda." Captain Mollier plucked his pipe from his lips. "I do believe that in the eyes of the authorities, we will be encountering some difficulty."


	14. Chapter 3 Part 2: Dragon Knights

Halkegenia Online – Chapter 3 – Part 2

Albion's greatest defense, more than her insurmountable fleets, manned by the finest sailors the continent had ever known, or a well-organized Royal Army, funded by the vast wealth retained by the ruling house of Tudor, had always been one of simple geographical impregnability.

High ground was the ultimate advantage, and Albion was the ultimate high ground.

That had not changed now, although the Faeries of ALfheim might have done a convincing job of making some people wonder. Albion's position as a fortress in the sky stood unchallenged yet.

And it was the privilege of the Dragon Knights to be the first line of defense, patrolling the cliffs and venturing out over the sea of clouds to keep watch for pirates and smugglers, and to raise the alarm in the case of an impending attack.

The disastrous raid on York and the breaching of the blockade at Newcastle had only spurred the Army and Navy, now under new leadership, even further in their efforts to strengthen the patrols and oversight of the 'coast'.

Watch stations had been hastily established and manned all along the cliffs from Newcastle in the North down to Londinium in the South and only slightly more sparsely along the more remote approaches to the Isle. This also meant that the Dragon Knight Squadrons and Dragoon auxiliary cadres had been reassigned to maintain strengthened patrols as they continued to train and reorganize in the wake of the disturbingly heavy losses that had been suffered at Newcastle and York at the hands of Tristain and their new 'Demonic' allies.

'Demonic', that was how all of the officers at the military hospital had described them, the Faeries that was.

Sir Richard Holland remembered it from his time convalescing after he had been dragged from his quite dead Wind Drake by the commoner crews of a field battery. A good thing too, the healers had told him, if they hadn't gotten him to the field hospital when they did, he would have surely died of his wounds.

As it was, his left arm still wasn't what it should have been for either strength or dexterity, and continued to grow inflamed from time to time. Most of the rest of him was intact, if suffering from varying degrees of lingering pain and weakness. But he was more or less intact, and lucky to have survived his encounter with Fair Folk.

It had been two weeks before he could walk, a month before he had been fit for even light duty and reassignment, and during that time, there had been precious little else to do save listen to Meinhardt and the gossip he brought, and the news, which was usually indistinguishable from the gossip.

The Generals and Admirals, old men who with few exceptions had never lead from the front, after consulting only with their well-qualified selves, had made their expert rulings on the Fae.

Demon spawn, conjured up from the deepest pits of hell, or maybe horrible abominations that had been twisted into life by dark water magic. They wore beautiful skins to awe the foolish, but it was nothing more than a glamour which concealed their true and hideous forms, as had been revealed when their Raven Queen had shed her assumed flesh at the battle of York.

And no doubt the same was true of the demon that had stormed through the Newcastle siege, killing a half dozen Dragon Knights in the process, to deliver the Fallen Prince Wales Tudor to safety. That monster had been said to have succumbed to the wounds delivered by the brave soldiers manning the line, burning away when its sustaining magic had been overwhelmed, yet more proof that they were a dark and unnatural breed.

The Faeries were kin of the damned, the Leaders of Albion said, all save Lord Cromwell who beneficently held his tongue on the matter.

Holland didn't believe a word of it. Blinking as the pain in his arm returned, as it always did when he thought of those last conscious moments meeting the wild, brilliant green eyes of the Faerie Magic Knight who had nearly ended his life.

Someone that beautiful, with eyes that were that scared, couldn't possibly be a devil, could they?

Then . . . just what were the Fae?

He knew his old bed time stories well enough, and even those did not agree. Some claimed they were Firstborn, like Elves, but sympathetic to mankind and the plight of the Founder's Faithful, albeit still Firstborn and prone to their own schemes.

Other times they were jealous, petty spirits that inhabited the same realm as Man while being equally born of magic. Dangerous to be slighted, and unpredictable even at the best of times, as likely to kill as to help, but no more evil than a blizzard or a lightning storm.

And of course, most rarely, they were described as half-blooded kin to the Angels or related to the Old Gods still celebrated by the common people, much to the quiet but tolerant disapproval of the Church.

The last seemed doubtful. If the Faeries were divine . . . well . . . Aside from being heretical to even think such a thing, if they were divine, this war would already have been over and the victor long since decided.

Rather like the match Holland was watching now, standing at the edge of a circle that took up a quarter of the courtyard of the dilapidated little castle that had become his home after provisional reassignment to the Fourth Squadron.

'Crack'

The heavy strike of wooden training swords met and then parted ways, the duelists pushing forward and stumbling back respectively. They disengaged, standing back to regard each other.

Holland gave a small nod. The man leading the fight was obvious, he had known Meinhardt from their first day in the training cadres, tall, handsome and trained by his family since birth to follow in his father's footsteps. Their instructors had said that the only thing that matched his talent was his arrogance.

The fiery haired half-Germanian had only gotten better at both since then.

His opponent couldn't have been anything other than outmatched, small and slight, a recruit seconded from the Dragoon training units, with hair as black as his skin was pale. The man, no, _Meinhardt_ was a man, his opponent was only a boy, and if the Knight was holding back in the slightest on that account, it didn't show . . .

The _boy_ was being badly pressed and without much recourse, despite the odd twin-sword style that had put Meinhardt off form to begin with. It had even won the young Dragoon the first point of the match by diverting Meinhardt's thrust and catching him with the second sword, much too quickly for the Knight to block.

But now that the older Knight had a feel for his opponent, he was methodically taking him apart. He was always like that when it was a contest of skill, all of his fire and bravado was quenched, and the display became nothing but a show of mechanical brutality.

Pitting a boy against _that _wasn't fair, but then, neither was war.

'Hugh . . . hugh . . . '

"What's the matter? You were nothing but fight just a minute ago!" " Meinhardt laughed as he flourished his training sword dramatically.

There was a ripple of snorts and muttering from the observing Knights, a mix of hard eyed veterans and young recruits like Holland himself who would never have been forwarded to such a formerly prestigious unit if not for the severe losses suffered in the past months.

He watched the veterans, some didn't look at all approving while others were nodding thoughtfully. Holland thought to pay them mind, all cold eyed and appraising. They were comrades now, and it would behoove them to make a favorable impression.

The Dragoon was _still_ nothing but fight, Holland decided, watching as he shifted back and forth, bouncing lightly and impatiently on the balls of his feet. Just decidedly more cautious now. Ensign Blair Trayvor adjusted the grips on his training swords and presented the leading weapon as he had at the beginning of the duel.

"Ensign Meinhardt." Lieutenant Wells, a severe blond man, barked from his place overseeing the duel. "This is an evaluation of your swordsmanship skills alone, do not bait your opponent needlessly."

"Oy Sir!" Meinhardt's opponent spoke up in the thick accent of a Northerner, mirroring the full blooded Knight's cocky grin. "If that's all he's got, he isn't riling me one bit!"

"And you, Ensign Trayvor, will refrain from speaking out as well." Lieutenant Wells instructed sternly.

Of everyone here, Sir William Wells was the one they needed to impress the most, the First Flight Leader, and Acting Commander of the Squadron, the new recruits hadn't even met their Captain yet, official business had taken Sir Terrance Dunwell to the Capital and he would not be back for several more days. When he returned, it was doubtless that his impression would be colored by reports from his senior aides, the Lieutenant, and . . .

Holland stole a glance at the woman keeping company beside the Lieutenant only to turn his head just as quickly when she spared him a glance. Somehow, she always seemed to know when someone was watching her. Though, it was a safe bet that at any given moment, _someone_ was watching her.

When Holland had first seen Miss Luttece in the company of the Lieutenant, he'd been fairly sure she was high nobility, no one else was possessed of that sort of casual, breathtaking beauty, or the magic to fake it for that matter. Women like _that,_ he'd been told, were the product of generations of relentless breeding, lifetimes of fanatical grooming, and quite often, some very choice alchemical enhancements, like a human rosebush.

And like a prize rosebush, he'd never seen one in person, until now.

He'd suspected she had to have been high nobility, her hair definitely suggested that her blood had crossed paths with Gallian Royalty at some point in the not so distant past. Bastard blood most likely, if she was serving as the secretary of an Albionian Knight, not that he'd dare to say a word of it aloud, even in private.

She was the second person they needed to impress, and unlike Sir Wells, who made his displeasure known openly, Miss Lutecce wore her features like a beautiful mask, almost like a dragon herself.

"As you were, both of you." Lieutenant Wells directed, waiting for both duelists to resume proper ready stances. "Continue."

Whatever Trayvor had said about not being baited appeared to be forgotten at once, the Dragoon was on the move almost immediately, intent on striking first and striking fast.

Meinhardt, not in any particular rush, waited for the first cutlass swing before countering with a two handed strike that overwhelmed the first sword and threw off the second one handed strike. Sidestepping out of his opponent's path as Blair was left overbalanced, he finished with an almost casual thrust to the flank.

"Point, Sir Meinhardt." Miss Luttece spoke out loud and clear.

This time, the senior Knight managed to keep his mouth shut, not that his grinning like a fool could have been making the black haired youth feel any better.

'He's lost his composure.' Holland decided, and now that his blood was boiling, any chance of using that unique sword style to his advantage was essentially lost. Holland considered himself to be only a novice at swordsmanship, if he could see it, then it was likely that it was visible to everyone.

"Continue." Sir Wells called again.

Blair didn't launch off again, this time keeping back, even retreating a half step in a novice attempt to draw Meinhardt in. The older Knight didn't buy it, years of training left the small feint disregarded out of hand.

A heartbeat passed, then another, the half-blooded Germanian's lips twitched, his weight shifting from his back leg and then resting just a breath too long on his front, Blair saw it too, as Meinhardt stepped in fast, beginning his thrust, the younger Dragoon couldn't help but take the opening.

Holland had never seen a two sword style in person before, though he knew that they existed, or at least, he'd heard stories of them third hand from the traders that worked with the Rhub al'Khali merchants. He could see how the style should have, in theory, had its strengths, especially now as Blair struck out with one blade while holding the second close to guard.

The problem was, it was still a one handed style performed against someone using a sword that could be wielded with other one or two hands, and Meinhardt knew how to take advantage of his strength to defeat an opponent quickly and move on to the next, the opponents in this case just happened to be a single person.

Meinhardt's feint was obvious, at least, obvious to anyone who had dueled him in the past, and like Holland had predicted, Meinhardt's next step had been to take hold of his sword with both hands, not drawing back, but arresting his strike to meet Blair's leading sword.

-crack-

The cutlass was knocked aside again.

-crack-

Blair intercepted with his second sword, only to be overwhelmed, neither duelist had much room to build up power, but again Meinhardt had taken advantage of his leverage and Blair's off-balance posture from the first deflected strike to push through and deliver his second with a solid, albeit more muted -crack-.

"Point, Sir Meinhardt." Miss Luttece announced firmly and almost anticlimactically. A few comments that just barely reached Holland's ears seemed to suggest some of the Knights had been expecting more out of the match.

"That concludes the match. Final score, Sir Meinhardt five points, Ensign Trayvor one point, the match belongs to Sir Meinhardt." Although said without much inflection, Holland couldn't miss the secretary's glowering look of contempt.

"A fair show of your pure swordsmanship." Sir Wells started . . .

"Sir!" Ensign Trayvor spoke up. "Permission to speak Sir!"

The Lieutenant gave a glance to Blair and then to Miss Luttece. "Speak your mind, Ensign."

"What's the point of handicapping ourselves like this, Sir?" The Dragoon spoke between heavy breaths. "Fight like this, doesn't have any bite. We're not going to be challenging our enemies to a nice formal duel, Sir."

Was he suggesting they go at each other with magic? Holland piqued up. That was insane, duels were forbidden in the army for a reason. Live magic drills were always dangerous, and always tightly controlled during training, it was too easy for someone to make a mistake that could kill another trainee or even, Founder forbid, an instructor.

"Your magical ability will be assessed separately at a later date, as you well know." Sir Wells replied sharply. "If that is all, Ensign."

The Dragoon opened his mouth to utter something, but temperance caught up to him at last, biting his tongue. "With due _respect_Sir . . ."

"With due respect, Ensign." Sir Wells cut him off. "When I say 'If that is all', I mean it as a dismissal. If serving in the auxiliaries has not impressed upon you, we are at war, Ensign, and can scarce afford to weaken ourselves in petty displays. Is that understood?"

Standing at the edge of the ring, Holland could see Blair's jaw clenching tightly. "Yes _Sir._"

That ought to have been the end of it. Holland sighed with relief. Except of course for Meinhardt. It was always Meinhardt in the end, hanging his sword over his shoulders with a grin. "If it's any consolation, your little parlor trick wouldn't save you in a spell fight either, if that's what you were thinking."

It set the Dragoon off like a firecracker, practice swords bursting outward in a pair of well-timed strikes that were caught by the waiting, and grinning Knight. They met, and were just as quickly separated, as if the hand of God had reached down and parted them in a blast of wind.

"Enough!" Sir Wells bark drew the attention of both cavalrymen as he held his cane-wand level, it was starting to sink in, even to Meinhardt, that he may have pressed too far. Far enough for the Lieutenant to make his way down the steps of the castle wall, followed by Miss Luttece.

"But Sir" Blair started.

"This is a _training _drill, Ensign." The Lieutenant tapped at his own practice sword. The Lieutenant came to loom over the boy, glaring down at him, jaw set firmly with the mark of his displeasure. "You are expected to learn from your mistakes here. I see potential in you, which is why you are here, but if you can't even keep your temper against one of your own, I will not hesitate to dismiss you. So, once again, do I make myself _clear_?"

Blair looked up darkly. "Yes Sir."

"Very good." Wells nodded slowly, satisfied that he would be obeyed this time. "Now then, for striking out at a member of your squadron, leave is revoked until further notice, you can see to the Dragon Stables in your spare time. In addition, you will stand second watch for the remainder of this week and the next. I hope this will be a reminder."

"Yes Sir." It was a fight, but Blair managed to say it without speaking through clenched teeth.

Wells took a long, low breath. "Very good then, return to your place."

Stepping back from the Lieutenant, the Dragoon carried his swords through a slow flourish and bowed properly. "Sir." Turning on his heel, he marched back to the edge of the circle.

"As for you." Well continued quietly, without giving Meinhardt the slightest glance.

"Sir!" The young Knight came to attention, not quite managing to hide the satisfied glint in his eyes. Knowing Meinhardt, he wouldn't mind much what was coming, even the switch. The Lieutenant would have to be uniquely brutal if he wanted the discipline to stick.

Which was why it was strange when the senior Knights of the squadron began chuckling among themselves.

"Very good showing against Ensign Trayvor, you handled yourself marvelously against an unfamiliar opponent." The Lieutenant said levelly.

"Uh . . . Thank you, Sir." Meinhardt looked at a loss, a first.

"And baiting him like that, I see now what you were no doubt doing. I gave you too little credit before." Sir Wells continued dryly. "This Squadron's reputation is built upon its excellence in battle, which is built on our excellence in training. Every man here helps every other man to achieve his fullest potential. You already seem to have a good grasp of that, it's a marvelous favor you did, drawing out the Ensign's temper, that is, I'm sure it is a lesson he will find most instructive."

From the edge of the ring, Blair glared.

Holland was baffled. Just what was the Lieutenant doing? And then he saw Miss Luttece, for the first time, she smiled. It was not kind.

"As you say Sir." Meinhardt fidgeted uncomfortably, like an animal sensing an impending disaster. He frowned. "Sir?"

"Like I said," Sir Wells supplied as he stripped out of his jacket, retrieving his own practice sword from Miss Luttece. "We of this Squadron must always seek to help each other." Wells lips were set in a thin and unamused line.

It was beginning to look like Meinhardt's bravado had finally sprung a leak. The senior Knights all looked on with mild amusement, like this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened.

Sir Wells took a ready stance, leveling his sword calmly. "I'd like to do you a favor, Ensign."

In all of the duels he'd seen or participated in, it really was, Holland thought later, quite the grandest thrashing he'd ever seen Meinhardt receive.

* * *

"So tell me," Holland asked Meinhardt as he helped the taller Knight to limp away from the infirmary, "Does it take practice to make bad decisions based on bravado, or do they just come naturally for Germanians?"

"Only the well-hung ones!" Meinhardt, not taking his defeat too well, nevertheless managed to force a tight grin and a pained chuckle. "Haven't been knocked about that badly in a while."

Holland was a long time in answering. It was true, Meinhardt had been regarded as untouchable at the academy, he'd even given the instructors a hard time in mock battles and duels. And somehow, he'd survived Newcastle unscathed. The man tended to live a charmed life. Which might have explained why he so easily acted the fool.

Holland stopped in his tracks.

"Aye!" Meinhardt snapped out as he found a hasty seat to avoid weighing too heavily on his bashed leg, the Lieutenant had neutralized Meinhardt early in their duel by striking out at the knee, sacrificing a point to take away the younger man's mobility. "What's this now?"

They'd stopped on the footpath that led from the infirmary back down to the barracks of the Fourth Squadron's accommodations. A low stone wall, paralleling the path, was all that separated them from the crest of the cliffs, and then nothing for a long, long way down to the sea.

The Fourth Squadron, previously a prestigious unit, and still furnished with a large number of experienced combat veterans, had been assigned along the cliffs roughly halfway between Londinium and Newcastle, where they could concentrate on regaining their strength after suffering so heavily against the Faeries.

As part of the general orders in the wake of York, watch stations had been erected every league along the cliffs of the eastern coast, stout towers with attached cabins for the commoner garrisons, scarcely more than a few men to keep constant vigil and fire off signal flares down the line if anything peculiar was spotted. But the cavalry required more than the minimal watch stations could provide.

Stables for one, to house the dragons, and pens for their food which was best kept live. Barracks and storage for the twenty Knights of a full squadron, and the forty some auxiliaries, handlers, physicians, and craftsman that kept them ready to fight. And headquarters from which the patrols could be assigned and managed and communications relayed to the watch stations under their jurisdiction.

The Squadron had found such a place in the form of an abandoned castle ruin clinging to a bluff that overlooked the sky and the relatively sparsely forested lands that spread out in every direction that was not straight off the edge of the world.

Holland didn't know for what war it had been built, or in which war it had been lost. The outer walls had been breached by either magic or intensely concentrated cannon salvos, years of weathering made it impossible to tell which, but despite the damaged fortifications the castle keep, headquarters buildings, and barracks had still been in serviceable condition, save for their badly rotten roofs, and the fire damage that had occurred either in battle or in the years since, the first things replaced by the engineering platoon that had refurbished the place before the Squadron's arrival.

It was a rather quiet station, all things told, and the stone walls tended to grow miserably cold in the night, but the castle's barracks, built to house a full strength company of men, was almost decadently spacious, or at least that was the opinion of a young Ensign who had previously been sleeping with Midshipmen aboard Navy frigates, they ate better too, with the nearby villages to buy from.

He could almost have closed his eyes and forgotten that there was a war at all.

"Sorry." Holland stood beside the seated Meinhardt. "Something was on my mind."

"Mind sharing it with the uninitiated?" Meinhardt looked up at him.

"It's just . . . how did we get here?" Holland wondered if that sounded right.

"Well, assuming you aren't asking theologically . . ." Meinhardt rolled his eyes. "I'd say we were brought up by our parents to serve in the army and then sent to the training cadres where we languished for the last four years. Then a war started and the army needed all hands, our families sided with Lord Cromwell and we followed. I'm pretty sure we were accepted into the Fourth Squadron at some point too . . ."

Holland shook his head. "Sarcasm . . . It doesn't suit you."

The younger Knight sighed, an action that caused Meinhardt's brows to creep up. "Pardon, is this the same Sir Richard Holland who used to regale us with stories of his family's service to the Baron of Adeline? The Sir Holland who dragged himself through four miserable years with that she-beast of a drake just to prove he could ride?"

"She wasn't so bad really." He thought back to his old mount, her half cooked body by now long since parted up for reagents at the very spot where she had cratered into the Earth. "Miss her terribly, I should say."

"That Wind Drake tried to take your arm off, daily." Meinhardt observed with an unamused smirk. "You should have let the handlers put her down and gotten yourself started on a fire drake a lot sooner. They're more forgiving. Except . . . "

Holland scowled. Except the problem wasn't the dragons. Horus was about as well bred as fire dragons came, and he hadn't taken fondly to Holland either.

"So then, Sir Holland, what is it that could have you seeming so defeatist? I'll have you know, that is a capital offense in times of war!" Meinhardt held his stern look until Holland couldn't hold it in anymore and started laughing, only then allowing his own face to split in a grin.

"Nothing like that. It's not defeatism." Holland insisted, or at least, he hoped it wasn't. Setbacks and rumors aside, the general mood that Holland had gauged among the senior Knights was still cautiously confident, and their opinions had inevitably infected him.

With the help of luck, and a powerful new ally, Tristain had managed to hurt Albion more than any foe in recent memory, but that didn't mean this war would favor them. If worst came to worst, in order to win, Tristain and her allies would have to invade, all that Albion's defenders needed to do was hold on to the Isle until the invaders grew exhausted. The difficulty of the former only further lent to the ease of the latter.

"I was simply thinking of what the Lieutenant said about the Eighth Squadron."

Twenty Dragon Knights, reduced in a matter of a half hour to only ten. Nor did the proportion of the losses escape him, by far the brunt of the casualties had been suffered by the new recruits. When that had sunk in, Holland hadn't been able to stop shaking for days. And he was one of the lucky ones.

The Eighth Squadron had been a provisional unit, thrown together on short notice with little regard for anything but filling its roster. Holland had barely had time to acquaint himself with his flight Leader, much less learn more than the names of the men who had died.

He was still left wondering just how it was that he was still alive, when they were not. "Why do you suppose the Lieutenant picked us?" Holland asked his fellow Knight.

Meinhardt became unusually quiet, crossing his arms as he thought. "The same reason he picked the others, I suppose."

"And that is?"

The half Germanian chuckled softly, "Believe me, I wish I knew. Maybe we're just _that_ good." Holland doubted maybe, but not him. "Or maybe he's judging based on experience. Wisdom before youth and all that."

"Like the way he wisdomed you good in that duel?"

"_Not . . . _entirely wrong, no." Meinhardt hissed under his breath. "If . . ."

The sound of dragon cries drowned out whatever Meinhardt was going to say next. The patrol flight that had launched south two hours ago was returning, taking advantage of the thermals that tended to develop around an hour after the sun reached its zenith to carry themselves easily over the edge before touching down in the fields surrounding the stables. Two fire drakes landed heavily one after the other, bouncing once each and then stumbling to a halt. The riders dismounted smoothly in an action that appeared to be nothing more than a continuation of the motion begun by their dragons, sliding free with the reins clutched loosely in their off hands.

Holland squinted, admiring the way that they had their mounts completely under control. Which reminded him. He glanced back to Meinhardt, mouth still open. The older Knight shook his head. "Go on, we don't need a third infraction for the day, right?" He waved.

"Are you sure?"

"I _can_ make it back on my own you know. I'm not a _cripple_." Meinhardt snorted, slapping his right leg. "Though I think that might have been what the Lieutenant was aiming for. And what's he thinking putting me on night watch with that little pepper box he picked up?"

"Probably hoping Blair finishes the job while you're down." Holland mused, ignoring the impolite gesture that he received back. It wouldn't be the first time Meinhardt had made enemies. Now if only he had a better track record of turning his enemies into friends . . . he might have more than one friend.

Though, being a complete arse didn't stop him from being right a good part of the time, and the truth was that they were surrounded by men with far more experience in battle than the two of them combined.

It made him itch, and the only thing that would scratch that itch was addressing his weak points. Which was how, quite deliberately, Sir Holland sauntered his way down towards the stables, the collection of stone and tile hutches where the dragons nested between sorties, housed four to a hutch when they weren't gathered outside to sun themselves drowsily.

The drakes were members of the Squadron too, and despite dedicated physicians and stable hands, their health and care was the responsibility of their assigned rider, first and foremost. Depending on one another in the skies, that was the way it had to be.

Getting close, it was the smell that always dominated, not pleasant, but not particularly disgusting either, more of an intense odor like burnt stone, mixed with hay and a distinct whiff of droppings and sick from whichever drake happened to be ill.

The odor thankfully weakened as he neared the hutch with a large, white '4' painted on its door, which he hoped meant he wouldn't find the mess in his own stable. The dragons were already irritable enough around him.

The interior of the stable was dark, and the air was heavy with the exhaled breath of the giant reptiles. His arrival didn't go without notice, a pair of the handlers, mages, but not trained Knights, gave him a half nod while they worked the wings of a small, female fire dragon for signs of parasites clinging beneath her scales.

The other three in the hutch were also male, and also fire drakes. All three watched his approach, shaking their crests suspiciously and clucking their disapproval, Horus, Holland's replacement mount and a particularly big and mellow tempered specimen of his breed was in the lead, raising head imperiously until he brushed the ceiling. If they'd been outside, Holland was sure the Dragon would be spreading his wings too, to look as big and menacing as he could.

Holland grimaced, it was _always_ like this, always had been, and he'd given up hope that it ever _would_ be different. The instructors had insisted he had a poor temperament, even though his riding was mechanically correct, and he took care of his mount as well as anyone, he wasn't assertive enough they said.

But telling him to assert himself in the face of two and half tons of fire breathing death was just too much. A dragon never bit the hand that fed it, _yet_, and that had been true, even for him, but otherwise, the animals had always been ill at ease around him.

Except, Horus had stopped his agitated clucking and now was bowing his head down until the top of his crest was nearly at eye level. A small, contended cry of -kurrruuun- issued from deep within the drake's throat.

"Hey there there, hey there there." A voice whispered in a soft, Northern Accent. "Hey there there, hey there there."

"Uhhhm." This demanded investigation, first because it meant someone was in his dragon's stable without his permission, and second because they were keeping Horus calm the whole time.

Holland took a step back, watching as the other two dragons shook their crests, but offered no more threat as they saw him approaching Horus' stable instead of their own.

"Yeah, you just have yourself a good lay back down. Good boy. No one's gonna hurt you."

"Excuse me!" Holland peered into the dark, and suddenly silent space. "Pardon, uhm . . . Pardon me. Who's in there?" He took another step and Horus, huffing slightly, half lifted his head. Holland was already cringing away, he just _knew_ that one of these days he was going to be the exception that proved the rule.

But the voice started back up again, and soon, Horus was watching him approach with drowsy eyes. When next his mouth opened, it was simply to yawn before curling up once more.

He saw the source of his dragon's comfort, pressing both hands firmly to the base of Horus' neck and rubbing slowly in a circle. Slight, and dark, raven haired, the boy who had been so eager to pick a fight with Meinhardt, even to the point of being disciplined for his outburst.

"Ensign Trayv . . ."

"Shhh." The Ensign raised a finger to his lips while directing the shushing to Horus as if nothing at all in the world was wrong. "Good boy. Good boy." He patted tenderly, until the drake gave a mighty sigh, curling back up. Only once the drake was at ease did the Ensign respond to his presence.

"Sir Holland, Sir." The boy gave a deliberately slow and easy salute. "My apologies for not answering up quicker, Sir. It's just a right pain in the arse to be stuck in a stable with an agitated drake." Blair said as he reached down to lift a pitchfork that had fallen into the hay at his feet. "Had to calm this big fellow down first."

"Ah . . . No trouble at all . . ." Holland replied. "Just, what are you doing here?"

"Stable cleaning, Sir." Blair replied. From the look of him, dirty trousers and sweat soaked blouse, a rather lot of cleaning. "Lieutenant's orders, I'm supposed to help care for the stables in my free time, Sir. This one needed new hay."

"I see, very good. And, uhm, you don't really need to refer to me as 'Sir'." Holland pointed out. "We're both juniors of the Squadron."

"Aye." Blair nodded slowly. "But you're a blooded Knight and I'm just a trainee from the auxiliaries. I think that counts for more than just rank. You've fought'm, the Fae I mean, heard all about that when I was begging everything I had to get into the fight."

"Fought? I wouldn't say fought per se . . ." Holland said nervously. More like, 'not killed by', than fought, maybe more like 'swatted out of hand without regard for his survival', than fought. "But I _was_ at Newcastle." He frowned, "So was Meinhardt by the way." If that made a difference, it didn't show in Blair's composure, the boy stuck out his tongue, but bit down on any blasphemy before it could leave his lips.

Not that Holland would blame him.

"Then I'll remember to congratulate him tonight while we're freezing on the cliffs. And the night after that, and the night after that . . ." He stopped, letting out a sigh, the tension left his body like water. "Stupid to let him get a rise out of me is all . . ."

Holland frowned. "Pardon me for saying this, Ensign, but you seem much more at ease right now."

"Oh?" Blair cocked his head, and then shrugged. "I get along with'm better is all . . . the dragons that is . . . better than people." To emphasize his point, Blair went on rubbing at Horus' flank. "Dragons are easy, especially a big beauty like Horus here, isn't that right?"

The fire drake huffed and shifted his weight to settle. It was the most ridiculous thing, like a toddler playing with a Germanian Riding Hound, and Holland was sure he would have laughed if not for the fact that it was working. He'd been so distracted before, now he realized he'd never gotten this close to a Drake without the animal becoming disgruntled.

"Wonder what had this big fella so scared? Wasn't a little mouse, was it?" Blair babied the huge, flying apex predator as he went on scratching. He saw Holland's blank stare and grinned. "Ah, sorry, but it helps'm you know. People don't appreciate'm, it seems."

"We wouldn't be able to fight without them." Holland agreed, trying, and failing to imagine a world where the cavalry did not rule the skies, impossible, like pondering a world without magic. Dragons were simply that essential. Which was why he was surprised by Blairs reply.

"Not that." Blair sighed. "That's exactly the sort of thinking I'm talking about. When people see dragons, they think they're big brutes. But once you get to know them, they're actually very _delicate_ creatures."

"Delicate?" Holland wondered, he really didn't see it. Dragons were raised and trained as living weapons from the day they were hatched. It had to be that way, there wasn't room for anything else in their bird brains.

This said as the Ensign circled around to check that Horus was still safely tied down. The boy stopped to put a hand up to the drake's snout, something hard and white glinting in his hand. The Dragon's nostrils flared, and it was only then that Holland wanted to say something, wanted to scream a warning, but before any such thing was needed, Horus opened his beak wide and a long, wet tongue snaked out to take the piece of chalk, sucking on it contentedly.

Blair smiled as he patted Horus on the snout. "We act like they're big brutes that'll kill and eat anything, and we've gotten really good at using them to fight our battles for us. But they're actually very fragile, they know it too." The Ensign's brow furrowed. "They're vulnerable on the ground, and can't protect themselves very well if they're caught by surprise, its why they seek out caves or high spots for protection. And because of that, they pair off early in life, first with their clutch mates and then when they find a mate, they stay with them even after mating so that they can protect each other when they hunt and feed. They're delicate, and they value family. That goes double for their riders."

"E-Excuse me?" Holland felt his face heat up.

"You have to trust your mount to obey you. But that means the mount has to trust you to sit up on their vulnerable back and protect them. We've been riding them so long, breeding them as mounts, they've learned to read us a little, I think, like dogs." Holland listened as Blair spoke, voice heightening in pitch as he grew engaged with the topic. "So if the rider gets nervous, the dragon gets nervous too and . . . " He stopped as if he'd said something he shouldn't have. "I mean . . ." Blair growled, "They can smell the fear on you. Makes them think that there's something they should be afraid _of_."

His hand fells from Horus' snout, the Dragon gave a small snort of annoyance, but otherwise, seemed content to simply watch the two of them. "Ah . . . Sorry about that Sir, I ramble a bit too much. Ah, you do think you can avoid telling the Lieutenant . . . That I like it here?" The boy looked pleadingly, he couldn't have been more than sixteen, or seventeen, still soft featured, like a child, or a girl. It must have been much the way Holland's own brother had seem him when he was a child. "It's bad enough that I humiliated myself, I hate to think what the Lieutenant'll dream up for me to do if he knows I _like_ the stables."

Normally the stables were considered pretty miserable work, Holland agreed, hot, and humid, and labor intensive, all the more reason to be surprised that Blair hadn't stripped down to the waist, instead having removed only his jacket.

"Your secret is safe with me." Holland supplied, grinning sympathetically. It was, after all, still hard work, and he was just a junior member of the Squadron, he had no place in suggesting discipline. "On just one condition."

Blair's look of relief froze.

"That trick . . . to calm him down." Holland gestured. "Do you think you could teach me that?"

"Aye, that'd be no problem at all but . . . but . . ." Blair grew distracted, looking over Holland's shoulder to where a pair more Knights were approaching.

"Sir!" Both Ensigns snapped to attention at the arrival of Sir William Wells and Second Lieutenant Sir Lawrence Secord.

"At ease Ensigns." Sir Wells instructed, glancing around the Stable. "This is your drake, Ensign Holland?"

"Sir. Yes Sir." Holland confirmed sharply.

"A fine specimen." Wells murmured, and then snorted. "We've more good dragons than we've Knights . . ."

"Sir?" Blair asked, it was innocuous enough.

"I've been told Sir Meinhardt isn't too badly hurt to fly." Sir Wells said. "And also that you're a fair hand at reining your friend in. You've flown together in the past, I suppose. I'll put you together as a flight pair for now. Ensign Blair," the Lieutenant turned an appraising eye to the troublemaker.

"Sir." Blair answered firmly.

"I want you paired with Sir Secord as his wingmate. Both of you, be ready to depart in twenty minutes. We're being asked to help strengthen patrols around Kingston on Hull."

"Yes Sir." Holland repeated, wondering just what was happening. When he looked past the Lieutenant, he saw more Knights hurrying to the other stables, and a sleek nosed, Northern Albionian Wind Drake being coaxed from the shade, spreading wings as he prepared to take to the skies. "Is there a problem Sir?"

Sir Wells nodded slowly. "There may be Ensign. Or it may be nothing. All we know is that a gunpowder shipment detonated on its way into the port last night. It was probably an accident, but given the stuff's tendency to explode whenever _Faerie's_ are about . . . the garrison Commander would feel ever so much better if we would assist them. You have your orders, make ready and assemble in front of the headquarters in twenty minutes."

Holland licked his lips. Faeries! They'd fled the White Isle with the Royalists, and now they might well be back.

It was Blair who spoke up before him, an eager glint in the young boy's eyes. "Aye Sir, it'll be our pleasure!"


	15. Chapter 3 Part 3: Three Black Cats

Please forgive the slow updates. I'll probably be busy with Titanfall for the next couple of weeks so there will be a slower update tempo while I unwind.

This was actually a rather interesting chapter to write as it marks the first time that I wrote the Shiori outside of collaboration with Gamlain, I do hope they come across in the way he had intended.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 Part 3

Having grown up on the receiving end of unsympathetic peers, bullies, and parents that had never quite understood him, there were very few things in life that Shirotaka Akira had ever learned to unreservedly cherish.

One of those things, he would admit to himself, had been his little sister Nanami, the target of all of his filial love, who more or less commanded the only tender feelings in his heart.

Which was why, as he rose to consciousness, lingering in that vague, pleasantly warm, not quite lucid state that came just before full wakefulness but after the oblivion of deep sleep, Akira sensed something nuzzling against his neck, the softness of hair beneath his chin, and the weight of a small body clinging to his own for warmth and comfort, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that he was safe at home, in his own bed, and that Nanami, also safe and free at last from her ordeal in SAO, had snuck into his room again after a bad dream.

And that he could open his eyes, and shake her awake, and this time be the one to tell her all about his bad dreams instead.

It was a feeling that made his heart ache all the more because he knew, even now, that it wasn't true.

The last vestiges of his good mood faded from Akira's mind as his, now her, other selves, alerted by her waking, began to stir as well, and with that wakefulness came the subtlest shift in awareness as the only identity that she could feel at ease with settled over herselves.

Shiori cracked open one eye and was immediately met by her reflection in the form of another one of herselves, all curled up like a kitten, still exhausted after last night's ordeal and reluctant to wake up. Nights near the cliffs, even in the summer time, were bitterly cold, and Shiori had huddled herself together beneath her lone blanket for warmth.

The result was to wake in a tangle of limbs, all three of her nuzzled together and very, very . . . clingy in their identical underclothes, shorts, and camisoles, that she'd stripped down to while her clothes dried during the night.

'Now, which one are you?' Shiori pondered. It took her a second to figure out which was which, body that was, like she'd briefly forgotten whether she was using her left or right arm. She'd left her equipment in arm's reach, but that didn't offer any hints.

The confusion subsided quickly, this wasn't the first time she'd needed to sort herself out. Shiori worked out that she was looking through her 'sword' self's eyes at her exhausted 'magic' self which was reluctantly being dragged to wakefulness along with the rest of her. Her 'dagger' self, meanwhile, was peeking out over the shoulder of 'Mahou Shoujou Shiori', head propped up against her knuckles as she rubbed and blinked sleepy green eyes and surveyed their hiding place.

Shiori sucked in a breath, inhaling deeply, her noses expertly teasing apart the scents. The warm, sweet, smell of hay, thick, animal odors, and a whiff of blood that she had to fight down the impulse to grow excited over.

It had been the sounds that had woken her, she decided, the not too distant animal noises of clucking chickens and roosters that had set her ears eagerly twitching, her instincts abuzz with promises of prey, and it was a moment before she managed to fight down the turning of her stomachs at the mouth watering thought of freshly killed meat.

But that would be bad. Doubly bad if she was discovered just because she was craving poultry. There probably weren't many worse, or stupider, ways to wind up getting herselves killed than that. No, for this morning, she was going to have to content herselves on rations.

A barn wouldn't have been her first choice, or even her second, but after nearly blowing herself up along with the Brimir's Bounty and then spending an exhausting couple of hours climbing her way up cliffs without being seen, she hadn't been feeling at all picky.

And it really had been everything she'd been looking for, isolated, quiet, and most importantly, warm after hours spent being buffeted by damp, ice cold winds, as she hid from the patrolling dragons and ships on high alert after she'd set off the world's biggest fire cracker.

Someplace where she could lay in the dark and still her beating hearts, and the frantic energy that rippled through herselves, threatening to pile up and push her to do something reckless. She rather suspected that it was another case of her instincts putting her on edge.

So . . . things hadn't gone quite the way she had planned them, Shiori thought, grimacing as Mahou Shiori rubbed her ears in memory of the deafening noise. Fortunately, none of her had gone deaf. And if they had, Faerie Battle Healing could probably repair the damage, hopefully.

Regardless. She said to herself while herself nodded in agreement.

Shiori poked a head out from beneath the warm hay where she had found shelter from the elements and a safe hiding place for the night, or at least, safe-ish, if worst had come to worst, she didn't think farmers with pitchforks would be much threat. Squinting in the predawn light, she able to satisfy herself that her hiding place was still secure without exposing much of herself to the chill morning air.

Shiori shook one of her heads, not that comfort should be her first concern right now. Infiltration of the island had been successful, now on to phase two. Observation.

With three pairs of eyes, three pairs of ears, and three brains to pick through it all, it was something that Shiori was exceedingly good at.

The rest of her began to stretch and yawn, and went about examining her equipment while 'dagger' Shiori crawled out from the hiding place and crept up to where she could get a view out into the countryside surrounding the farmstead.

It wasn't much more than a patchwork of fields and forests for kilometers around. Fields, forests, and in the far distance, the hazy bulk of the Port Tree rising above the surrounding landscape like a living mountain, and marking out the location of the otherwise invisible port of Kingston on Hull.

It was one of the largest cities in the region, definitely the largest trade city. And where there was wealth, there would be Nobles, important Nobles, Nobles who knew things. Things worth interrogating them for, pretty much.

She might have gone straight for the city the night before and infiltrated in the confusion, but the rough winds had thrown the ship off course, and the grand entrance she'd used to obscure her final approach might have made that . . . difficult . . .

Besides, she needed to make preparations, and the countryside, with its dotted villages, isolated little farm houses and plenty of forested areas to hide, and hunt in, was a far better place to do that.

While inspecting her gear and the clothes she'd left to dry overnight, and at the same time sitting watch cross legged, while she also extracted a loaf of bread and a paper bag full of salted pork that had been generously liberated from the galley of the Brimir's Bounty after she had reduced the vessel to a ghost ship, Shiori began to think about her next move.

Having all of herselves awake made things easier, mostly, Mahou Shiori looked on with drowsy, watery eye and fought down another yawn. But even with one mind, three different brains made it just as easy to pursue three different trains of thought, and also confusing.

It didn't really matter which of her was thinking what, what one saw, and knew they all three saw, and knew.

First, their mission, short and medium term goals.

Short term, simply killing absolutely anyone and everyone aligned with Reconquista who happened to cross her path seemed like a pretty guiltless idea, and highly disruptive to the Rebel Government too, and also likely to draw all of the wrong sorts of attention from their legions of lackeys.

Mahou Shiori snorted contemptuously. She couldn't just walk in and slaughter everything. That tactic didn't usually work too well, even in an MMO.

New short term goal, get acclimated to Albion, learn what she could, and start putting together a list based on who was likely to know what she wanted. It had the added bonus of doubling as a hit list, since she had no intention of leaving anyone alive to warn that she was coming.

Which led naturally to her medium term objective. Dagger Shiori's eyes narrowed murderously.

It could be neatly summed up as 'Kill Cromwell's Necromancer'.

Before departing Tristain, Shiori had taken the liberty of sniffing out what she could about raising the dead, the facts about Necromancy, harder than it sounded given how much of the forbidden art was muddled in legends and superstition, and none of what she had learned had inclined her to believe she wouldn't be making the world a better place by killing its practitioners.

About the only good news was that everyone seemed to agree Necromancy was high class water magic and took a serious toll on the caster's will power. It was one of the reasons why the Continent wasn't constantly besieged by armies of the undead. The other being that they tended to rapidly deteriorate into the sort of 'shamblers' that inhabited a million cheap horror fics.

Seeing as Cromwell had taken Albion the good old fashioned way instead of crowning himself the Dark Lord and raising an army of undead thralls, the chances were good that there was only one Necromancer in his service.

Which meant he, or she, was probably someone very close to Lord Cromwell himself, and very, very well-protected. It might not even be possible to get anywhere near them, as unpalatable as that thought was.

But Alicia had probably known that beforehand, her second train of thought surmised.

In fact, given the deniability of her mission, and the lack of contingency orders, the chances were good that Alicia Rue was banking on her taking the shot and failing.

It wasn't the first time the thought had bubbled to the surface, nor the first time that she'd stamped it out viciously.

The idea alone was enough to put her on edge, setting off her suspicion and deeply ingrained paranoia, multiplied by three as her survival instincts and emotions mingled and bounced off of each other over and over again. The fact that she kept her physical response to a low hiss shared among herselves was a testament to the willpower she needed simply to function.

And not to mention it hit too close to home because . . . because . . . well . . . Alicia was probably right about her. Sword Shiori kept her eyes fixed on the distance.

She was a time bomb, the only question was when she was going to explode. There were days Shiori felt that way anyways. And even if Alicia was wrong about her, it wouldn't change what everyone thought when she was around.

'Like I give a damn.' She thought darkly, Mahou Shiori handed her a piece of bread and a slice of pork to worry at.

If they didn't like what she was, or what she did, especially when it was necessary and they weren't willing to face that fact, then she couldn't care less what they thought of her.

It didn't change anything anyways, if this had just been a way to get rid of her, the threat posed by the Necromancer was still real, and as soon as Alicia had suggested it, Shiori had latched onto the idea with the same tenacity, or maybe obsessive monomania, that had allowed her progenitor self to bring together all of the disparate bits of hardware and code that had made multiboxing in full dive possible in the first place.

If she could make it happen, Shiori promised on the names of the precious departed, she would kill their defiler. And if she couldn't manage that, she'd at least come back with a name and a face, and a body count that would leave Reconquista shaking in their boots.

That only left the specifics, the little details like how she was going to know where to start, or how to get there without drawing a bull's eye on herselves for that matter.

Wondering around Albion in the dark of the night would be easy enough, but that wasn't going to cut it when she got to the towns and cities and started in on her work.

Shiori already had some ideas for that . . . Without thinking much about it, the eyes of Mahou and Dagger Shiori turned to the seated Sword Shiori, while Shiori did her determined best to keep her eyes focused outward on the lightening fields, and the little farmhouse from which she expected someone would eventually appear.

Sword Shiori squinted hard. Shiori knew that it was the way things were going to have to be, that didn't mean she liked it.

Mahou Shiori whispered aloud. But that was just Shiori trying not to think about the . . . problem . . . She shook her head, it wasn't a problem per se, she could deal with it anyways, it was just . . . disorienting . . . was all.

Shiori looked between herselves. Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone, but she had created herselves to be what she considered attractive. Or at least, what she had considered attractive as a male shut in hacker with more than a few things that people considered wrong with himself to begin with.

Bodies small, almost child sized, but already possessed of the trademark Cait litheness. Each of herselves showing the full extent of a well-toned physique beneath pale, unblemished skin, and a definite hint of slim hips and small pert bosoms that didn't need much help from her camisoles to be evident.

It had been a look that Akira had put a modest amount of effort into getting just right, the product of an innocent infatuation with gymnasts, and taken no small amount of dark pleasure in the looks he'd drawn from unsuspecting players in ALO. She'd fast developed a considerably more aloof opinion of her flesh and blood selves after the transition.

Yes she was pretty, no she didn't really care, no she didn't want to get in touch with her inner woman, and yes she had locked herself in her room one night, after she'd stopped jumping at every touch, sight, and sound, and not come out until morning. Oh, and fuck off for asking.

She'd had some things to get used to.

She had gotten used to it remarkably well, or maybe being three girls at once just made all of her other problems seem insignificant.

Whatever.

The point was, there was a convenient way to get around looking like a trio of black cat girls, or any sort of Faerie for that matter. She'd just screwed it up, a little, more or less.

Sword Shiori's head sunk low at the memory, the Shiori equivalent of prodding at a wound to see if it still hurt, just thinking about it set her tail to lashing and her ears to fold back firmly against her skull. A barely audible hiss rose from her throat.

"It can't really be helped." Shiori said out loud by way of Mahou Shiori. "We'll just have to deal with it."

"It's going to be a bigger pain that just missing our ears and tails." Dagger Shiori said as she shared in carefully not looking at Sword Shiori.

The disguise spell Mimic was a must have in every Ganker's spell arsenal, a great way to get up close to victims or follow them around in their faction's safe zones until they decided to leave, at which point, the pursuing Ganker could get the drop on them and make off with the loot.

Shiori had been no exception in mastering and filling out her Mimic spell to the point that she could easily blend in among all of the factions. Testing the spell out after the transition had confirmed that it did indeed still work with all of her recorded forms intact, in fact, transforming one of herselves into a bubbly, big breasted, Puca bimbo and hamming it up as a ditz had made a depressingly effective distraction. Idiots.

It hadn't been long before curiosity had niggled at her and she'd started to wonder 'what if' about Mimic, among other spells. It had been easy to test out anyways, all she'd had to do was wonder into any town that was frequented by Faeries and brush past a few of the local people. It had been even easier than pickpocketing since all she needed to do was lightly brush them with her hand and she was in business.

The whole thing had gone off without a hitch with Mahou and Dagger Shiori having no trouble singling out and scanning a pair of girls in the market before making their way across the border for their eventual infiltration of Albion. Testing the results had also produced satisfactory results with both of her transforming into reasonably cute brunette girls, not identical, but close enough to pass off as sisters.

Then it had come Sword Shiori's turn. Which was where things had gotten . . . interesting . . . more or less. In a twist that she was still kicking herself over, she simply hadn't been thinking much at all about it at the time, not like she should have. Magic had changed, after all.

Sword Shiori grimaced, if it had been all three of them, then it would probably be a lot easier, but it wasn't all three of her, just one bombarding her already finicky mind with conflicting signals in a way that was probably none too good for her continued mental stability.


	16. Chapter 3 Part 4: Among Thieves

Don't like this one too much. Maybe because it's so short? To be honest, I'm kind of improvising this arc since we've seen what happens when I over think things. :p

Anyways, the next chapters after this will get back to Kirito and Asuna.

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 3 – Part 4

Criminals. In her short life, Matilda had grown to know them well in all of their varieties.

Thieves, brigands, highwaymen, fences, and smugglers, the buyers and sellers of the black market that existed beneath the veneer of civilization in every town and every city across the Continent. She thought of it as a business, the legitimacy that such a word lent tickled her just so, it was what it was, and criminals, like all businessmen, needed a place to meet, neutral ground to negotiate and deal.

Places like the Hound's Pit Pub of Kingston infamy, founded by criminal necessity, raided upon Royal decree, and relocated more than once in its long and infamous career, its clientele often on the verge of being stamped out in their entirety.

The recent chaos in the Kingdom . . . _Republic_ . . . of Albion had offered them a new lease on life, and an unspoken offer from the powers that be to operate on the gray edges of legitimacy, so long as they did not push their luck, that was.

The privations of blockade could do that to the delicate tastes of Noblemen. Oh how they missed their comforts, Romalian brandy, Khali'd cotton and tea, and the fine craftsmanship of Germanian leather, all things which could be procured on the black market, for a price.

Opening the front door, a slab of iron framed hardwood fit to laugh off a light cannon blast, Matilda was struck full force by the atmosphere, the noise, and the smoke rich air, sweet tobacco and sweeter incense, of the seedy little tavern tucked away deep within the dark heart of the crowded slums, barely more than the back room of a back room.

Her arrival did not go unnoticed. Over a dozen pairs of eyes turned on her, conversation at the tables halted, and even card games froze mid hand. She was an outsider, their eyes seemed to say, and until they decided, she did not belong.

Rough fellows, scarred old mercenaries playing the long game of survival, and cruel young men dreaming of plundered riches who'd likely be dead in a year or two by their own greed and recklessness. They all squinted in the dim light that managed to filter in at her back, like trolls that had never known the sun.

Matilda surveyed the space, even the serving girls looked wary, the corners of her mouth curving up in a small smile beneath the anonymity afforded by her cloak. She could practically feel the suspicion tugging at her, the assumed lack of trustworthiness.

It was good to be back.

"Good morning gents." She supplied in a cool, rough voice. Matilda had long ago learned the trick to making 'Foquet' sound masculine, and that was to make him androgynous rather than exaggerating to absurdity. People were more than willing to believe in an effeminate man so long as she didn't try too hard. "I do hope there's room for one more."

A few unsure men reached for swords and knives, a few more groped for pistols, Matilda quickly raised her hands to show that she meant no harm, more importantly, to show the wand holstered at her side. That was enough to make most of the lot think twice, a mage was not one to be reckoned with, not in a fair fight anyways.

Too many of these men knew that in the gamble against someone with magic, it was likelier than not that they'd be one of the corpses on the floor. But fear wasn't going to win her any favors, so, with only the slightest hesitation, Matilda tossed a small pouch onto the bar counter where it struck with a pure metallic -ringing- of its contents. Ears all around piqued at the sound they loved the most.

"That should cover rounds for everyone." Matilda gestured jovially to the bald, bare chested, and pink skinned man standing behind the counter, looking for all the world to have been sired by an orc. He looked strong enough to wrestle one too.

The tavern occupants muttered and nodded slowly, returning their weapons to their scabbards and holsters, most slowly turning back to their own business, save a few who looked on with the glint of curiosity. The noise of hushed conversation resumed as if nothing at all had happened.

A new arrival, one who was loose with their money, and a free round of drinks, there weren't many easier, or faster, ways to grow accepted among these sorts of men. Dangerous, merciless, reliably selfish, and unlike the nobility on high, utterly unapologetic about what they were. They really were her kind of people.

"Never seen you in here before, Stranger." The bartender grunted quietly on Matilda's left.

"Oh?" The thief asked. "What a relief, then I've been doing my job." Matilda reached into her pocket and withdrew another, silver, coin and deposited it into the bartender's meaty hand. "I'm looking for a Mister 'Greer'. I was told he could be found here this morning?"

The bartender nodded slowly. "He keeps a room. Back table," he murmured under his breath, "The one with his back to the wall."

Matilda followed the barkeep's gaze to a ginger haired, mustachioed man, quietly nursing along his drink, accompanied by a late breakfast of bread, eggs, and sausage. She smiled, so she'd found him so soon. Her luck was improving already.

"Excuse me." Matilda muttered. "Pardon." Slipping between the tables and dancing around servers, twisting between the chairs and their burly occupants until she was standing before the table of Mister Greer himself. This was the man she wanted, she suspected.

The men at the tables to each side suspected it too, four in all, and each looking to be fit to take on an ox. They were beginning to stand and interpose themselves before Greer gestured for them to remain seated.

The men gathered in the Hound's Pit Pub were uniformly of a shady disposition. Some lived on the fringes of illegality, dock workers taking bribes to . . . overlook . . . cargo, others, the usual assortment bodyguards and sell swords. Then there were the men, or women, like Matilda herself, an accomplished career thief, and essential to her illicit profession, men like Mister Greer.

Mister Greer, as he chose to be called, was a fence, a trafficker of stolen goods. Stealing a rare magic artifact or a precious work of art, while cathartic, didn't do Matilda or her dependents any good if she couldn't turn that prize into hard currency, and it was men like Mister Greer who made that possible. Placing thieves like Foquet in contact with buyers in need of 'his' services and arranging both transport and payment.

She'd never met the man personally, but he'd been known to her, by reputation if nothing else, even before she had first departed Albion. Really, any of his ilk would have done, his was just the first name to appear. She was simply fortunate that she'd known people who'd known people to find him so quickly.

Dipping a piece of bread into the yolk of his eggs, taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing, all without saying a word, Mister Greer at last deigned to honor Matilda with an acknowledgment of her presence, looking up with a bored expression.

"I do not believe we've met before." Mister Greer squinted, as if he could peel back the shadows and get a look at Matilda's face. "But you seem quite intent on meeting me. Or so Barkley and his lads on the docks have said."

So, word traveled fast, Matilda mused. War hadn't made the underworld of Albion any less quick on its feet.

"Something like that." Matilda agreed, though not at all the normal sort of business she got up to when she'd met with her fences in the past.

More important than Greer's reputation as a fence was his other illicit activities, namely by necessity, Mister Greer was one of the best connected smugglers to still be operating in the wake of Albion's civil war, happily thriving and making a profit on the misery of others. Well, Matilda admitted, she didn't have any business judging how others managed to eat.

"And as a matter of fact, we've had business together before, through a proxy. The Rose of Catalia?" That alone ought to have been enough for Greer to identify her, and knowing of it, ought to have been enough for him to know she was who she claimed.

"Oh?" Mister Greer pondered this and then smiled. "Ah yes. Then, I suppose you must be Foquet of the Crumbling Earth, or thereabouts. Pardon, I expected you to be taller."

"And you, are Mister Greer, smuggler and fence of stolen goods." Matilda answered right back. "I expected you to be fatter."

The bodyguards didn't like that one bit, all four growling, one going so far as to reach into his cloak for a weapon before Mister Greer started in with a coughing laugh. The smuggler waved his men off once again. "Now, now, that was a compliment . . . of a sort."

He leveled Matilda with cold gray eyes. "I assure you, Monsieur Foquet, the White Isle hasn't been starving this past year, thanks to the good Lord Cromwell's charity, but one and all, we've had to tighten our belts with this war. But I doubt your business is here nor there." Greer gestured to a chair opposite, the one, Matilda noted, which placed her back to the door, and to his guards.

That was the price of meeting the spider in his lair.

"On the contrary, Mister Greer." Foquet said, assuming the offered seat. "My business has a rather lot to do with things while I've been away. I suppose you could say I'm reacquiring my bearings since last I've walked the Isle."

Which was not at all a lie, Matilda thought as she observed Greer, reclining in his seat, the king of his own little domain. Things couldn't be at all the same now.

When last she'd been back, it had been in the dead of winter to deliver supplies to Tiffania and the children, using the weather, and the lull in the fighting that it had brought to her advantage. At that time, the Royalists had still been holding fast in the North, the Port of Newcastle had not yet been abandoned, York was still firmly in Royalist hands, and though the Royalist fleet had been vastly weakened by defection, Kingston had been under blockade.

Less than half a year later and the tides had turned fully in the favor of the Reconquistadors, crushing the last of the Royalist field armies and dragging their few remaining ships from the skies in a chain of failed engagements culminating in the siege of Newcastle Fortress and the eventually the flight of Prince Wales with his tail firmly between his legs.

Matilda snorted, how very like a Tudor to run when he could no longer bully.

Not that she expected his replacements to be any better. Matilda wouldn't have lived as long as she had, as a thief, or as a woman in this world, without learning something about how things worked. The majority of Reconquista were more or less the same wolves that served under the Tudors, just now, they were off their leash.

Mister Greer examined her mercilessly before speaking, a question of his own. "Oh? Has the great thief heard word of something? A treasure, perhaps?"

"Nothing so grand." Matilda smiled in the shadow of her hood. "Merely a personal matter. I have incomplete business here on Albion, and now that the Good Lord Cromwell has taken control, I think now is as good a time as any to conclude it. I _can _of course, make it worth your while if you can provide me with the information I'm looking for, and . . . Possibly where I can procure a fast pinnace and a reliable crew."

Greer was silent for a moment, examining his own immaculately kept nails, a delaying tactic as his mind whirred and calculated. Of course, Matilda dare not tell him too much, but their business was always one of telling only half the truth, and it was accepted that deals were meant to remain anonymous.

"Intent on removing something from Albion then." Greer decided casually.

He was merely speculating, his intention had been to spur a response, something, anything to see if his guess was correct. But Matilda was far from about to give him the pleasure.

"The money is good one way or another." She promised. "Good, and in the possession of some acquaintances who will be very, _very_ displeased if I do not return safe and sound."

Also not a lie, that was just the way these sorts of things had to be arranged. Foquet was a thief after all, he didn't have many trusted allies, but what he did have were clients that were willing to pay in services for their promised goods, safely hidden until her return.

Greer smiled coldly. "To walk into my Town and suggest I'd go back on a deal, watch yourself Monsieur Foquet, or you'll find that you don't have as many friends in Albion as you once did."

"That seems a fair reason to show caution." Matilda breathed with another smile. "Of course, I know that you are in the business of keeping your word, but one can't be too careful in these times when up is down and Faeries are dancing on the clouds above even Albion."

Matilda fell silent, letting her words sink in. Greer appeared unamused. Of course, after what had happened last night, he was bound to have heard by now and drawn his own conclusions.

It hadn't been long after the explosion that the _Iceni_ had at last made port under the watchful eyes of a fully alert and patrolling dragon squadron and a half dozen cruisers, filling the skies with the brilliant beams of reflector focused mage lights and alchemic flares as they swept the faces of the cliffs and the skies all around the port.

It had all seemed like too much to Matilda, a powder explosion wasn't an unheard of thing, and always messy, whether it was a barrel, or in this case, an entire ship. Albeit, a ship full of gunpowder made a considerably more impressive _bang_ than she might ever have imagined.

In the end, a pair of patrol cutters, detached to investigate the suspiciously veering ship, had been blown from the skies in the same explosion that had erased the cargo vessel.

Only after docking, with the _Iceni_ put under lockdown with the rest of the arriving ships, had Matilda learned the extent of the garrison commander's response.

Powder explosions weren't uncommon, but nor were they common enough not to warrant investigation, and on this scale, foul play had been suspected all the same. Made worse by rumors that the stuff was cursed whenever Faeries were about . . .

And to be honest, Matilda thought, that might not be far from the truth. If Enya was any indication, the Faeries had a wholly unhealthy fixation with explosions.

"Come now Monsieur, surely you can't believe everything you hear." Greer smiled coldly. "The Fae are . . . interesting . . . but with the way our garrison commander's are jumping at shadows you'd think they were the cause of all misfortune and depravity."

Or perhaps all hope and unrest, if the snatches Matilda had caught, hastily whispered among men and women in the streets this morning had meant a thing. To the Reconquistadors, the Faeries were simply another complication to their designs on the Continent, another enemy that needed to be crushed, an odd race of Firstborns that would be practice before moving on to the Elves.

The common people of Albion had very different notions, assigning the Fae with all of the fanciful imagery of a half dozen millennia of repressed stories and legends.

Beautiful, timeless, ethereal creatures that walked on sunbeams and cast nary a shadow, misshapen dwarves that could grow into giants at a whim, masters of fate that could see into the past and future, and beautiful women that could change themselves by magic into all forms of beast, or even take guise to walk among humans.

Of course, neither was even close to the truth, Matilda knew this well enough. The Faeries, for all their strangeness, were not completely alien, for all their often flawless beauty, were not otherworldly, and for all their intelligence and knowledge, were not particularly more _wise_ than anyone else.

In fact, on the last point, she'd found them astonishingly childlike, naive . . . unjaded . . . that was it, they still thought that there was such a thing as justice in the world.

The fact that the commoners were so quick to grasp at hope was proof enough, in its own way.

That more than anything had pained Matilda, hearing the legends of the Faeries, and the false hope it would bring. Beautiful, awe inspiring, and in the end, pointless. But in the end, it wasn't her fight, if people chose to believe something that wasn't true, she wasn't responsible for what happened to them.

"So then, the Harbor Master is mistaken?" Matilda asked.

"He is a man under a great deal of stress and high expectations from the Good Lord Cromwell." Mister Greer supplied. "Though I'd imagine in your travels of the Continent you've almost certainly learned more of the Fair Folk than we who have been occupied with Albion's affairs. So I suppose you may know better."

Matilda shrugged as if it was insignificant. "The common people seem to believe it. They want to believe it anyways. As for myself, I'm in the business of it being none of my business." She certainly had no intention of getting caught up in some Faerie adventure or another. "Though it may well be something they would do."

"Well, regardless of whether it is or is not," Greer said, "If you must travel across Albion at the moment, you'll need to be prepared."

"Avoid the mercenaries, I know." Matilda sighed. "They're naught but brigands in uniform."

"Aye, that too." The smuggler agreed. "But not just that. The Army has been issuing travel stamps and keeping a close lookout for counterfeits. Up until last night, you could get by in the south without them, I doubt that will hold true now no matter how that ship brewed up."

"Restrictions and curfews mean little to me." Matilda waved a hand. She was confident that she could get past any roadblocks the army thought to put up. After all, no force could protect an entire city a fraction as well as some of the places she had burgled.

"But I imagine those restrictions and curfews mean a great deal for whatever you intend to retrieve." Greer's smile returned icily. "That is, if you need a pinnace to transport it away from here, you can't be moving anything too small."

Matilda paused, it would be easier to answer with false bravado, and possibly safer, she didn't dare tell a man like Greer more than he needed to know. At the same time, moving Tiffa and the children was going to take planning, it was always going to take planning. On her own, Matilda could go anyplace and be anyone, but with Tiffania and their charges, she was shackled and her greatest strengths rendered useless.

But despite all this, Matilda held her tongue, because the only reason the smuggler would mention it was if he intended to continue on.

"You may, of course, check for yourself. But I happen to have the connections available." Greer supplied. "I could arrange what papers you need for an additional fee . . . well . . . an additional _service_."

Matilda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I'm listening."

"There are certain Royal artifacts that have come into very high demand since the fall of the Tudors. One of these artifacts happened to be liberated from my associates a short while ago, and I would so dearly like to have it back. I would very much like to hear your opinions, Monsieur Foquet, on a consultation basis, of course." The smuggler raised a hand to call the serving girl back to the table. "As you said, you have business to attend to on the White Isle. I can only assume you haven't eaten yet. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement . . ."


	17. Omake: POE-M Fall

Author's Note: Woh Dudes hold up! This is an Omake! If you want the latest chapter, it's posted right after this one! You can skip ahead to read that if you like and ignore this thing, that's cool, or you can stay and read this first if it looks interesting, don't let the MAN tell you what to do!

So anyways, I need to clear this brain bug out but I didn't want to post it until I also had an actual story update. After playing Titanfall religiously over the weekend, I came up with this. You heard me right, this is inspired by Titanfall . . .

I've been meaning to do a far future Omake for a while now, but I wanted to keep it vague enough that you guys can make lots of wrong guesses rather than giving any hints of where the story is actually going. So just word to the wise, take this whole omake with a mountain worth of salt.

After playing Titanfall, I came up with this.

* * *

"Oy, oy Belgen, are you listening? Time to get up man."

Belgen de Gramont was torn from a beautiful dream at the feeling of a hand rocking him gently by the shoulder. Squinting up in the cabin light at a familiar and unwelcome scruffy face, he just wanted to punch the interloper, and would have, if doing so wouldn't have been likelier to break his hand against a skull like solid granite.

Instead, the mage settled on croaking out a query. "Bish?"

The fiery haired Faerie grinned and patted him on the cheek. "Wakey wakey, come on it's almost time to dive, got to get kitted out and down to the toy box, the Commander's waiting." Turning back to the hatch, Bish paused, "Oy, you coming man?"

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I'll be right there." Belgen yawned as the last fuzz faded from his head. Taking hold of the duralumin bed frame, he pulled himself upright, deck shoes hitting te cold metal floor. Another day, another dive. He gave the cork board beside his bunk a glance, kissing his fingers and placing them to a picture of his fiancee for good luck before following after Bish.

The corridor outside of Belgen's cabin was nearly abandoned save for a faint hiss of air, the buzz of ambaric lamps, and the steady vibration passing through his boots and up his legs. Most of the crew were already at their action stations, save for a few sailors in technician's olives squeezing past in the opposite direction. The mage paused, gripping one of the hand rails and concentrated. "Feels different."

"You noticed?" Bish asked. "Yeah, the Captain switched over to the kerosene pulsers a half an hour ago, about the same time we broke from the cloud cover. Guess we're close enough to sprint the rest of the way."

"Close enough to what?" Belgen wanted to know as he followed Bish down the corridor and waited for a team of airmen to clear the ladder down to D-Deck. That was the million crown question. Why the hell the _Prince of Wales_ had suddenly found all shore leave canceled and everyone recalled to the ship on such short notice. "Tell me that Command is giving us something."

Bish just shook his head and grinned. "Guess that's still covered under 'Need to Know'. Guess we _don't_. Course, that's why they pay us the big bucks." The Salamander serioused up real quick. "You didn't hear it from me, but by our heading and the lay of the land I'd say we're someplace inside the Duchy of Gall by now."

The Duchy of Gall? "Well shit." Was all Belgen could think to say. Was this retaliation for something or were they testing the treaty? And Dad had thought things were going well with the Duchy last time he'd been home. "The Commander's gonna have some explaining to do."

"Tell me about it." Bish laughed. "But first let's get you kitted up."

They hit the armory and suddenly the abandoned feel of the corridor ricocheted into the chaos and claustrophobia of two dozen men and women crammed like sardines into a poorly lit, poorly ventilated locker room barely big enough to fit them and their storage lockers.

Not even deodorizing charms could clear out the stench of stale sweat and oil that had accumulated in the confined space, it had made Belgen gag the first time he'd caught a whiff of it, convinced someone was keeping a corpse in their locker. By now, it was as familiar as his own socks, some of his own stink had no doubt been rubbed into the metal and canvas of the room and would endure long after he left, to nauseate the next newbie through his initiation.

Not paying the smell much mind at all, Belgen opened his own locker, the metal coffin unhinging on lever arms to present his readied gear, combat harness, weapons, and a suit of _Rustunghaut _special issue infantry armor hanging flaccidly by its storage straps, faceless helmet lovingly scratched into a skull visage that hadn't needed a whole lot of creative explanation to someone like their Commander to explain.

First thing first, he stripped down, ignoring the grab ass and snark filled comments of 'shrinkage' from an equally stark naked 'Eva' and Welsh. Welsh because the man was a perfect ass at all time, and Eva because, despite _having_ a perfect ass, he'd grown up near Freelia and the Faerie girl who was now a Faerie woman had been almost like a sister to him.

Belgen wormed his way into the nearly assembled armor and made some small adjustments to the tie off laces on the wrists and ankles, tightening down straps with help from Bish and his squadmates until it fit him like a second skin.

That took all of five minutes.

Next was the harness that fitted over the low profile suit of armor, fitted with his equipment pouches, holster, and pneumatic ascender pack, he left adjustment of the last piece to Bish who could actually see what he was doing well enough to make sure everything was tied down correctly.

"Damn, you know these things kick like a mule." Bish grunted, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "Can't be good for your back."

"That's the price to keep up with you freaks of nature." Belgen rolled his eyes as he did he did a cursory check to be sure that the control surfaces were responding to the shifting of his center of mass, he'd have to get fueled up before he could check the motorized ascender and jets.

"Oy, keep up? You can bounce like a grasshopper, but you can't fly like a dragonfly man." Bish grinned as he pulled his spell-sword and checked the edge.

Only a Faerie would think to take a full on sword into battle in this day and age, and only Bish would be so romantic as to make that sword a _Katana,_ a traditional blade of his ancestral homeland. What more could be expected of a man whose father had given him the facename 'Bishamon' after a pagan deity of the realm of Ieriel. Not that Belgen was going to complain about his friend's choice of weaponry.

The truth be told, they'd fought quite a few things that had bled quite a lot before they'd even thought of dying, and there wasn't much better way to make them bleed than a sharp piece of Fae alloy. But Bish wasn't quite so romantic that he'd only have a sword to back up his magic either, and the very next thing out of the Salamander's locker was his own cold gas gun which he expertly shouldered, making a few small adjustments to the stock before clipping the weapon to the front of his harness.

Belgen followed suit checking his own compact and surprisingly heavy weapon and making sure all of the valves were properly set on the reservoir, firing piston, and low pressure launcher.

His foci came last, pulling the utilitarian spell-glove from its padded box and fitting it comfortably over his off hand where he could use it without delay, even if he was holding the CGG. A pair of spell-flechettes found themselves tucked into his harness, lastly his wand went clipped into his thigh holster, just in case.

They'd been last to enter and they were last to leave, Bish and Belgen squeezing through the hatch out onto the catwalk that overlooked the ship's lower hold. The smell of body odor was diminished here, but the stink of oils and hot metal was even stronger in the freezing air and harsh light of ambaric lamps.

They called it the 'toy box' and for good reason, this was where the Special Armed Services of the Royal Harriers kept all of the fun stuff while on deployment. Special issue weapons and armor, ammunition, wind stone propellant and fuel pogs, POE-Ms, and the landing boats that got all of those goodies between the sky and ground.

The unpressurized compartment ran half the length and two full decks of the ship, and every cubic meter that wasn't taken up by tools and supplies was filled by the weapons that they serviced. Fore, there were the assault boat bays, each holding a twelve man, stub winged landing craft bristling with rocket pods and automatic cannons.

Behind that was the assembly space where the early arrivals were mulling around and killing time, a few having a smoke in blatant violation of regulations. Followed by the armory and the POE-M hangars which also housed the ship's Norn interceptors.

Beneath the catwalk, SAS members were arguing with the vile creatures known as 'Arms Masters' for their propellant and ammunition allotments while POE-Ms were assembled, fueled, and 'sleeved' by their operators before being slotted onto their transport racks and maneuvered into place on the tail binders of the assault boats. Watching the whole process take place, it was a disturbing mix of 'child's play' writ large, engineering, and surgery as the articulated constructs were activated one by one.

"Oy, that's a Mark _Five_!"

Bish nudged Belgen's shoulder and pointed to one of the doll-like and vaguely feminine suits of self animated armor standing as tall as an orc, its gloss black body partly shrouded in fabric camouflage that was being attended to by human and pixie technicians. The torso was currently unhinged to allow access to the shoulder joints, exposing the silicon fiber muscles and magic drive. From this distance it was hard to make out the miniscule pilot sinking into the semi-liquid surface of her control cell.

The technicians finished their work, reassembling and fastening the chest plates, and stepping back as the pilot brought her POE-M online, the armor suddenly going from ridged to relaxed as she assumed control and unstrapped her artificial body from the safety harnesses.

"Latest model. Didn't know we had those."

Neither had Belgen, the earth mage tugged thoughtfully at a lank strand of gold-blonde hair, most of the SAS POE-M's were venerable derivatives of the MK-III 'Daisy' and 'Super Strike Daisy', small doll-like bodies garbed in their mottled camouflage dresses.

The presence of their larger and more capable successors just underlined their obsolescence and made them appear even more out place among the hardened soldiers. But the SAS and its reputation were based on the excellence of its members, not the sophistication of their equipment.

More telling were the pair of eight hundred pound ogre's in the room, two Minotaur like Golems, each three meters tall and loaded down in armor, squatted on their haunches and knuckles near the rear bay doors. The technicians were all over both of them and the heavy spell cannons that ran along their spines to terminate someplace within their mouths.

"Those are POE-Ms too?" Bish whistled. "Didn't know they made them like that either."

"They're army models, I've seen them a couple times before during field trials. Guess they finally worked out the problems."

"Looks like they can kick a lot of ass."

"Good luck finding Pixies that'll pilot them though." As with male humaniform POE-Ms, the small Faeries simply refused to operate something that they did not find aesthetically pleasing if they could help it, and those that did were considered _extreme_ eccentrics.

"Just what the hell do we need those for?"

"At a guess?" Belgen rubbed at his chin. "I'd say we're going to have some serious doors to kick down." Not that anyone was expecting anything less than an assault after they'd been pulled off of patrol and sent hurrying to the ass crack of who-knew-where.

After bitching with the Arms Masters for entirely too long, Belgen came away with eight magazines for his CGG, a quartet of Puca manufactured Spell-Grenades, and a half dozen Wind Stone chips suspended in their stabilizing pogs. Clipping the first of the spring loaded tube magazines to the receiving port on his gun while slotting the rest into his harness like rolls of Pachinko tokens, a hoarse female voice drew everyone's attention fore.

"Attention! Commander Arriving!" A slight Salamander woman, one of the few people in the bay dressed in naval khaki's rather than technician's olives or SAS field camo, swept the bay and then nodded firmly.

Like a well oiled machine, everyone quietly dropped what they were doing to turn, watch, and listen to the raven haired Spriggan who had just taken center stage under the flickering of the overhead ambaric lamps.

The pale blue light did him no favors, accentuating an already tall man's lanky frame and giving his ashen skin a corpse like complexion and staining his blood red eyes to a shade of violet. It really was a look that didn't suit him at all.

The Command raised a hand. "At ease." Assuming a relaxed posture himself, the Spriggan placed his hands on hips. "Now that we've got the formalities out of the way, let's get down to business kids. I'm sure everyone here is probably got two things on their mind. One." He held up a single finger. "'Why the hell we're in the middle of the Duchy of Gall.' And two," he held up a second finger, "What my girlfriend said when I popped the question."

"Actually we just want to know the second one." Someone called from the armory catwalk.

"Yeah." Belgen added with a laugh. "Did Sachi-chan say yes?"

"I decline to answer that at this time." Commander Sir Fujioka "Mordechai" Momotaro de Gaddan scratched at the back of his head. "Partly on the grounds you guys are all assholes who'll hold it over my head next time parade comes around, and partly because I know you've all got a betting pool going, so I also know none of you greedy bastards are going die until you collect!"

The laughter was shared by everyone save the Pilots of the Mk Vs, outsiders Belgen noted, their unit patches bore the golden circle and slitted pupil of the intelligence division. And really, that's all he needed to know. There was only one thing worse than spooks and that was spook _pixies_. Humans and Faeries in that job liked to pretend they were born without a conscience, the Pixies who blossomed into that role really were.

"Now that we've got the humor out of the way." Commander Mordechai waved to a pair of technicians fiddling with the guts of a Mirage Projector. "Gather round kids so we can get down to business. We've got a job to do and trust me, it _ain't_ pretty."

The overhead lights were blacked out, plunging the bay into darkness until a silver light burst to life in midair, unfolding outwards into a pale mist that then preceded to take definite shape, resolving into what Belgen at first mistook for a rock, then a mountain, and then an island. A floating island.

"This is Geoblasd One One Eight Maria, a kilometer plus class intrusion and location of one of the Duchy of Gall's Wind Stone extraction operations."

"Man, I do not like where this is going." Bish breathed under his breath.

"Wait just a second." Belgen spoke up. "One One Eight Maria? So she's a designated intrusion? That means she's covered by the treaty." This really was a pissing match with Gall.

"Right about it's classification, and on any other day you'd be right about the treaty too." Mordechai said, leaning forward to survey the top surface of the island. "But today isn't any other day. We've got the green light to blow stuff up and it comes straight to us from the Queen and Prime Minister with the blessing of the Grand Duchess of Gall herself." Mordechai fixed them all with bloody eyes. "We've got a Black Site on our hands."

And that was all the Commander needed to say for everyone in the room to get very, _very_ quiet. They all knew the story of the last Black Site operation, Yggdrasil Knights had waded knee deep through blood on that one. Nobody wanted a repeat of that. Deploying an air destroyed like the _Prince of Wales_ suddenly made sense. They were going to crush this thing with overwhelming force.

"I've only been filled in on the details recently, so I'll let our contact with CATSI give us the run down on why we're here and what we're looking for. Allow me to introduce Dame Botan Kirigaya de Tarbes."

Kirigaya? Belgen pondered for a moment, a relation to Father's old friend? And also Miss Sachi . . . But with a floral name and from one of the Garden settlements of the Pixies. Belgen wouldn't have been less surprised if someone had told him they were in fact talking about one of the Small Lives, that was, until he saw her. The Spriggan beckoned a second form to the fore, previously unnoticed in the shadows, this one dressed rather plainly in slacks and dark long coat.

If it was a Pixie, then she had to be wearing a POE-M, and if it was a POE-M it was an exquisite one, at least on par with his father's works, in fact, father was the only Golemetrist around who could make a POE-M so breathtakingly lifelike. Cast in the silver aura of the Mirage Projector, delicate, so very delicate, features like porcelain, dark eyes flecked brightly with hints of gold and lips stained a tantalizing crimson. That she resembled a girl more than a woman was only a matter of seeing her from any angle but head on, starring into the full force of her gaze, he was pinned in place.

"Good day everyone." Her voice was soft and the acoustics of the bay were crap, but it carried ,somehow it carried, probably by means of the Resonating Crystal clipped to her headpiece. "I am Captain Kirigaya seconded from the Intelligence Division. I will be providing liaison with CATSI forces on this mission. I will be depending on all of your to put forth your best efforts." A small bow received a bow in kind from the gathered soldiers, Belgen included.

"In regards to this operation, as this is a Black Site, it is off the record, therefore, this mission is also off the record, as is what I am about to tell you all." The Chevalier de Tarbes fell silent, closing her eyes meditatively. "Five days ago, word was received by our consulate pertaining to a Black Site facility someplace in the Duchy of Gall. At first the information was held with due suspicion, but after conferring with the diplomatic corps, it was confirmed that the message came directly from the Grand Duchess herself."

Sovereigns begging help from other sovereigns, never a good sign. Belgen licked his lips. As if the Gallian territories weren't screwed up enough as it was.

"Roughly six months ago, TRIST research documents pertaining to the HEX central mainframe were confiscated from spies attempting to flee the country. It appears that copies must have been made at some time before the interdiction. At very least, we believe detailed specifications for several of HEX's core and simulation blocks have been replicated. This in and of itself is disturbing, but more pressing matters have also come to our attention."

Waving a hand through the illusion of One One Eight Maria, the floating island was replaced with a panorama image of a small farming community nestled into foothills. "The Duchy of Gall has received several reports of mass outbreaks of plague symptoms in isolated communities through their eastern territories."

The voice of the Pixie in the guise of a girl fell nearly to nothing as she swiped through more images, showing the settlement, or one very much like it, up close. Close enough to see the houses. Close enough to see the bodies. Mention of a Black Site had prepared them, it didn't come as a surprise, it didn't stop anyone from cursing under their breath.

"As of this time, Quarantine procedures have proven effective, but casualty rates in the afflicted areas have been very high. This cannot be a coincidence."

The Chevalier's face hardened as she looked up. "Artificially fortified plague strains are a grave enough risk as it is, the possibility that they could begin appearing in greater numbers cannot be tolerated. This facility needs to be wiped out and those operating it brought to justice for their crimes."

Looking around at the faces of his comrades, Belgen didn't even need to know them to know that they all agreed.

Commander Mordechai stepped back up. "As you all should also know, the Duchy of Gall stands in direct opposition to the central territory Kingdom of Gallia. Our own United-Kingdom would greatly prefer that this power balance remain intact as a buffer against another conflict. Not to mention the nice bonus of the Grand Duchess owing us a few favors in the future. This is a straight zoom and boom people, we hit fast, hit hard and make this problem _go away_. Captain Gramont."

"Sir!" Belgen found himself being put quite unexpectedly on the spot.

"You're checked out on HEX architecture, right?" The Spriggan gave him a confident look. Of course, Mordechai aught to know that given their shared time at the military academy.

"The old stuff that TRIST was doing five years ago. But I haven't been keeping up on the latest advancements." Too busy smashing things to paste for Queen and country.

"That'll have to do." Mordechai said without much more than a shrug of dismissal. "Normally we'd have techs from TRIST here to help us pull the Brain, but it is what it is. I want you to get what you can, we need to know how far along their research is. The nice thing about them stealing our technology is that we can read everything they've written."

"Now then, on to how we're going to do this." Waving his hands through the mirage to return to the map of One One Eight Maria, either for illustration, or maybe just to erase the distressing images.

"The _Prince of Wales_ is currently around thirty minutes out from One One Eight Maria at an altitude of two thousand meters. Maria hovers at an altitude of Seven Hundred Meters. You'll be performing a sky dive to achieve altitude. Weather permitting, we'll blindside them and try to neutralize the whole Geoblasd without a fight."

"Resistance?" Captain Welsh, a Commoner by birth and an officer by merit, shifted his weight from his back foot to his front.

"Expected to be pretty light, the place is an active Wind Stone mine though, so there _is_ a garrison force for security." Swiping back though the images, a mirage of an ugly, black and gray brute of an airship took center stage in the air above their heads. "This is the _Gloir _formerly the _Pious_ of Romalia before being sold to the Duchy of Gall. She's a ten thousand ton, second generation cruise iron clad. A tough customer, but the _Prince of Wales _should be able to kick her teeth in if she intervenes alone."

"The real problem is the ground batteries." The commander swiped back to the map. "We don't know where they're placed, but CATSI confirms that there should be three Woestte-Ishimura twenty centimail gun batteries located in camouflaged casements around the mining operation."

"Woestte-Ishimura conglomerate?" Bish spoke up. "Oy, oy, hey now Boss, what the hell are these guys doing with our guns?!"

"They were a legitimate purchase as part of the United Kingdom's aid to the Duchy of Gall." Dame Botan explained as she drew a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "The Duchy bought twenty one of these batteries to protect strategic locations while modernizing their sky fleet."

"The _Gloir_ can't fight the _Prince of Wales_ head on, but she could keep us away from the Black Site with the help of those guns." Mordechai added clinically. "That's why those batteries need to be located and taken out soonest upon arrival. Do that, and the _Prince of Wales_ can sky dive in behind you. We'll bring the ship's spell-cannon into range and force the _Gloir_'s surrender. Then it's all over but the crying."

So a raid operation with an assault chaser. Belgen started to pat down his harness.

"Join the army they said." Bish shook his head. "It'll be _fun_ they said."

"We're in the sky force." Belgen pointed out.

"Same difference."

"What about air-cav?" Eva, a tall Cait Syth huntress raised her hand. "This is a Gall outpost, they should have Dragonmares and shrikes."

"Thos'll be up to our Norns to handle." Mordechai said confidently, nodding to the still unsleeved Pixies and their knife like POE-Ms, all flight surfaces and wind stone driven jets. "But only after the _Prince of Wales_ sky dives. No need to tip our hand until we have to. The key to this operation is speed and shock. We can't let them escape or destroy anything that might tell us who's behind this."

"Teams three and four, Eva, Bish, I want you to do a sweep of the Geoblasd as soon as you touch down from sky dive. Pick out those guns for the assault teams and then locate the entrance to the Black Site. Best bet is an old mining gallery on the southern edge. Once that's done, teams two and five, Belgen, Welsh, you'll hit the dirt and storm the place with Dame Botan's POE-M troops."

"We are honored to serve with the grandson of the Illustrious General Gramont." One of the faceless MK V's gave a small bow. "Please allow us to lead the way when the assault begins."

"Understood." Belgen nodded, despite the unnerving company, he couldn't help but grin. "I do suppose this is the first time I'll be performing an aerial assault while underground."

"It shall be a first for us too." The same POE-M replied politely, its flawless mask of silver merely throwing Belgen's own expression back at him.

"Teams Six and Seven, Crocus, Pansy, you and your sisters back up Teams Three and Four. You'll have Minotaur POE-Ms for support. If you need to assault the guns directly, don't let up until they're out of the fight. Once that's done, link up at the entrance to the active mine shaft and keep watch for anyone trying to slip away. Minimum force is authorized to insure compliance of personnel, but weapons free is given anyone who fights back."

The Spriggan looked over the map one last time like a critic summing up a particularly offensive painting. "The truth is we're only a little bit better than completely in the dark here and there are bound to be hang ups. I know it sounds cheap, but expect the unexpected, this is a _Gallian _Black Site after all. That's why I'm off the field on this one. I'll be coordinating your support and POE-M deployment from here on the _Prince of Wales_ along with Captain Kirigaya. Any questions?"

Plenty, but everyone knew they didn't have answers.

"Alright then. Check your gear and go over the maps one last time, you sky dive in fifteen!"


	18. Chapter 4 Part 1: Tag

Sorry for the late update. Titan fall has been addictive.

Halkegenia Online v3 Part 1

A flash of vertigo, ice cold wind in his eyes, stinging his cheeks and then a force like a mighty fist driving him down as Bonaparte spread his wings wide, peeling out of his cloud dive and into a swooping bank to kill speed. Riding high in the saddle, Lieutenant Erwin de Gramont spun his head to and fro in a mad effort to regain his bearings.

It was just past six of the clock and the sun had just risen, at least, from the perspective of eight hundred mails up in the sky, casting blinding gold curtains of light beneath the clouds and above the still dark surface of the world below.

Dark land, dark sky, and dark everything in between. That wasn't good.

"Where are they?!" Erwin called to his wingmate, swooping down from on high atop his own Fire Drake, they fell into formation at once, as easy a habit as breathing, albeit at the moment, they were both sucking in ragged breaths, pulse pounding. Their opponents were not making this easy.

"I've no sign of them!" Sir Vincent Thetcher, formerly of the Albionian Royal Dragon Knights loyal to Prince Wales Tudor, and now as surely in the service of Queen Henrietta as himself, called back shortly.

"Stay on your guard!" Erwin instructed, hardly a thing that bore repeating as he swept the lightening sky, hand brushing back to feel the light piece of fabric that was still tied to his saddle.

Tucked into the shadows cast by the few cotton white clouds in the sky, neither Knight could find one trace of the skirmishers that had been close on their tails only moments before, an accomplishment given the nature of Faerie flight.

There should have been a sign, Erwin squinted. There was a telltale glow to Faerie wings that made them impossible to miss, like shooting stars in the night, one of the disadvantages of the otherwise potent aerial abilities of the Fae. He and Sir Vincent had exploited the weakness mercilessly the morning before along with the Fae's limited endurance, to snatch victory from their more nimble opponents when their stamina had been exhausted and they were forced to ground.

It had been . . . what had Dame Caramel called it? 'Like shooting fish in a barrel?'

Apt enough, even a commoner musket could do that much. For all their preternatural prowess, their magic, their inhuman strength and speed, once they were grounded, the Fae were as vulnerable as anyone else to having fire rained down on them from on high, and the previous skirmishes had thus far been consistently their loss.

Maybe they'd learned a thing or two after their previous humiliation.

Reclining back in his saddle, allowing his harness to bear his weight, Erwin tugged at the reins, coaxing Bonaparte higher on heavy wing beats. Maybe they'd gone to ground early, laying in ambush and recovering their stamina for another go. In that case, Erwin had no intention of giving them an easy target close to the ground, they'd have to waist precious energy chasing him up into the sky if they wanted to approach, all the better to pepper them with spell file as they drew near, patting his spell-sword reassuringly.

He was the third son of General Belgen de Gramont and had inherited the element of fire from his beautiful and virtuous mother, Monalise Alfeba Francine de Gramont, along with her considerable penchant for mass destruction, with the help of Bonaparte, he could light fire to an acre of forest in a single pass, lay a curtain of fire to detonate rockets and bombs as he had done on the night of the Gala attack, or pick off a wave of unprotected commoner infantry if they had the gall to advance without mage support.

But potent as his skills as a mage were, over the training fields, he was limited, forbidden from casting anything save less than lethal deterrents, for all purposes completely nonlethal to beings as resilient as a Faerie in even the lightest of armor. It wouldn't do any good to have someone wind up dead, after all.

'But this hardly makes it a challenge for them either.' Erwin thought.

It was all well and good that the Faerie trainees were responding to practice drills and learning the maneuvers and counters of Dragon Knights and mage cavalry, and all the better that many of them had been blooded, either at Newcastle or in battle against the Mobs that infested the countryside. But that wasn't enough to call them soldiers, not nearly enough.

They lacked aggression . . . temerity for lack of a better word, to use their innate abilities to the fullest. Erwin swept the skies. There were exceptions of course, those to whom the shock and intensity of battle came naturally, most notably among the Newcastle Volunteers, and the Yggdrasil Knights, but on the whole, they were deceptively soft souls.

The instructors had already taken to toughening them up, the screams and curses of Mage Officers filling the yards during morning drill, joined once more by the living bellows that drove the voice of Sir Carmond, commander of the training cadre and liaison to the Fort Captain of the Champ de'Mars training facility.

It was an impressive sight, to watch at least, he imagined it was a good deal more terrifying for the recruits to be confronted by a Salamander only slightly smaller than General Eugene, red faced and on the verge of bursting. But everyone knew that the cadre leader was more bark than bite. For all of that volume, the Knight shook his head in disbelief, Sir Carmond had never once laid a violent hand on the men he had taken to training. And he hadn't allowed it of the mage instructors either.

Training weights, humiliating exercises, added duties on little sleep, all of these punishments were fair game, but never so much as the switch raised against any of the trainees, much less a proper cat-o-nine. That would just leave them soft to pain, Erwin thought, and soft to the strictures of rank. He didn't know what sort of wars the Faeries fought in their homeland to not heed the necessity of discipline more closely.

It was, one and all, nothing more than a second hand play craft of the real thing.

'What they need . . . ' The third Gramont son decided ' . . . Is a good trial by fire.' Not with the intent to kill, mind, but enough that they would learn not to flinch at the charge of a drake, and keep their heads when confronted by spell flames.

In other words, they needed live combat drills, not just these flag matches, they needed . . .

Erwin heard Thetcher's whistle almost too late. It_ had_ been too late, if not for the fact that he had responded by reflex, throwing his weight to the left and yanking the reigns along with him, Bonaparte responded to shift in their shared center of mass by banking just as a dark dart-like shape snapped past him in a wash of rushing air, going fast, too fast to have been anything but deliberate.

"What!"

Still turning sharply, all Erwin had to do was turn his head to see up, up into the dark sky, and the nearly invisible dots that now resolved, falling towards him with impressive speed, and below, a quartet of silver-white wings flashing into existence as the Faerie who had just failed to blindside him, began to arrest their fall.

No glow! Erwin cursed under his breath.

The Faeries had a spell for that too, to mask the light of their wings, but it had its own price, namely, reducing the Faerie flight speed to an anemic crawl that even a fire drake could outstrip. But they weren't flying, they were falling, a simple expedient to get around that problem, and coming down from above the clouds . . . he clicked his tongue, they wouldn't have even needed their magic to hide their wings, at full speed, momentum would have carried them up quite a ways before gravity started to pull them back down.

Clever.

"Thetcher!" Erwin called to his wingmate, the Albionian was his cover for this exercise, the Faerie's needed the streamer attached to Erwin's own saddle to win, which made Thetcher an unwanted obstacle to their ambitions, one who was already maneuvering to his wingmate's aid.

When Erwin had started his bank, Thetcher had immediately begun a turn of his own in the opposite direction, intent on placing himself above his Flight Leader to offer shelter. Meanwhile, Erwin went to work on making things interesting as he sighted down the spine of his spell-sword, a good Germanian pattern, built more for the precise work of a wind mage, it didn't suit him at all, but then, this sort of practice didn't suit him either.

'Give me something I can turn to ash!' He cursed as he breathed his first chant.

Earth magic of all things. Father would be amused, at least. It had been one of the great jokes of the family that their baby brother was the one to take most after their father, his affinities as well. Erwin for one had never enjoyed his studies of the element.

Not that he had any right to complain now, he was the target after all, which meant the diving Faeries had to come straight for him, he could take aim easily, at least, his first spell formed and fired itself, a fist sized projectile of porous red clay aimed at the lead of the two Faeries striking from above. Porous so as not to harm the Faerie Knight, and red so as to make the mark hard to miss, a target that was so marked was not permitted to retrieve the streamer and was required to land immediately.

First shot, then second, Erwin switched his aim to the second Faerie without bothering to see if his strikes had hit home, all he needed was for them to break from their dives and burn up their remaining flight time in maneuver. His third shot grazed past the trailing Fae who had gone from a dark little dart to a fast growing, dragon helmed warrior with a curved practice sword held two handed at his side, the fourth would have hit, but the target had recognized what was happening and adjusted his dive at the last possible moment.

It didn't help the Faerie as much as he had hoped, no sooner had Erwin's forth shot missed wide did the Faerie suddenly go stiff, like an insect striking a pane of glass, before being flung through the air like a rag doll.

Wind hammer, Erwin nodded his approval to Sir Thetcher, why take precise aim when simply battering the whole area would do perfectly well enough.

The Faerie was sent tumbling a ways, the sudden loss of his dive posture ruining his fast downward decent. Bright red Salamander wings flashed to life as he recovered, and instead of continuing his charge, broke for cover in the forested area beneath the two Dragon Knights.

'Which leaves only you.' Erwin returned his attention to the last Faerie, now dangerously close and not at all deterred. Thetcher cast again, trying for another wind hammer, and maybe the concussive spell would have worked if not for the fact that, at that exact moment, the Faerie deigned to open his wings, slamming into the turbulent wall of semi-solid air and powering through at full speed.

"Merde!" Erwin barked as he twisted again in his saddle, pulling on the reins tightly to urge Bonaparte into a roll which became a dizzying dive as the dragon folded its wings, anything to put on some distance and draw the last one on to his tail where Sir Thetcher could take the shot.

This was where things got interesting.

Faeries, for all their small size, were astonishingly capable aerial combatants, their wings while in powered flight behaved less like those of a bird or drake and more like a sort of flight enchantment with each wings supplying a fraction of the Faerie's full thrust and able to vector and maneuver in such a way as to direct that force in almost any direction.

It did wonders for their maneuverability at the further expense of endurance.

In a breath's span Erwin and his mount lost two hundred mails and transformed their dive into forward speed as Bonaparte's wings dragged at the air, meanwhile, the Faerie that had dropped in behind them, flashed smoke black wings to correct himself, now he was in chase behind Erwin and the Dragon Knight changed his flight regimen again, from a glide into heavy, wing beating, maneuvers that would swiftly exhaust Bonaparte, but that was fine, it would wear out their Faerie chaser first.

It came down to energy, Faerie wings could direct their flight with astonishing efficiency, permitting high speed and maneuverability, but they had to take care, the wing surfaces were not nearly large enough to aid meaningfully in banks and turns, not to provide added drag in an emergency stop, meaning that even to simply follow a fast turning dragon, a Faerie would have to use up proportionally more of his stamina.

Worse, for the Faerie in chase anyways, they didn't just have to follow Erwin's maneuvers, they had to forestall them and inevitably end up traveling a longer path at higher speeds to intercept, the other alternative was to lose even more energy and make themselves more vulnerable by slowing down.

Not that Erwin needed the Faerie to slow down in order to be hit. Two more rapid fire clay shots spat from the edge of his sword while up above, Thetcher rained wind hammer blows and magic flung dye bombs at the Faerie pursuer. Good, now they had him juking and too busy managing not to be hit.

A buzzing attenuated voice reached Erwin's ears on a breath of wind magic. "Keep a course due East, lure on ten count." High above, Thetcher was gaining speed and pulled out ahead. Chin tucked into the high collar of his uniform jack, Erwin grinned. This was more like it.

'One . . . two . . . three . . .' Counting calm as ever, no need to rush. Erwin kept the Faerie on his tail busy, spitting out snap shots and slipping in another wind hammer that staggered him, but otherwise failed to end his dogged pursuit. Stubborn, he'd give him that, and gaining ground all the way.

' . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .'

Thetcher was well ahead of him now and beginning to roll as he started his split-S while Erwin kept the Faerie too busy to notice. 'He's got to be nearly exhausted now.'

' . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten . . .'

Drawing in the reins while leaning back in his saddle, Bonaparte spread his wings wide, rearing in midair in a motion that killed their forward speed almost instantly, the Faerie overshot in a black blur spinning around and losing speed just in time for Thetcher to complete his split-S.

"Now you're . . ." Erwin began, only for triumph to be snatched from him as the Faerie vanished in an erupting cloud of black smoke. "Merde!" sinking low in his saddle to withstand the buffeting wind that struck along with the oncoming smoke front. Bonaparte crooned in displeasure as the clouds utterly enveloped them.

"Agh!" Erwin growled under his breath. This was becoming quite the bag of tricks the Faeries were playing with today. Swiping his sword with a short chant that ought to have conjured up a gale to sweep aside the accursed Spriggan smoke, he was left less than satisfied when the magic had no meaningful effect on the cloud of gritty particles. Oh it swirled them up just fine, but they stubbornly refused to dissipate as they _ought _to. Even the heavy beating of Bonaparte's wings did little but whip up a string of small vortices.

Faerie magic in action, never a _simple_ solution. But he refused to remain blind in this mess.

Next raising his wand over his head, Erwin cast a ranging spell, the length of his spell-sword pinging faintly with subtle vibrations. The returns painted a picture for a hundred mails all around, empty sky save for . . . there!

The Dragon Knight didn't need to see, pointing his wand down past his saddle he snapped off another clay shot, narrowly missing the white winged Faerie from earlier as they burst out of the cloud cover, swing a one handed practice sword that would have batted the Dragon Rider's own guard aside if he'd been foolish enough to hold his ground.

He wasn't that foolish. Snapping his sword out straight, a single point of light sparked at the end of his wand and then burst. Fire magic, but far from the lethal spells he would level in pitched battle, a mere flash cantrip that dazzled the Faerie and sent them staggering in midair, vulnerable as he peppered them with a shower of clay shot. Three strikes, three -puffs- as porous clay burst and covered the Faerie Knight's plate and leather armor, leaving now doubt that the Faerie was out of this fight.

But they would have come at him alone, and sure enough, the Salamander from before was right behind the first, Erwin's clay shot bursting uselessly as it struck a fire barrier precast and unleashed by the Fire Fae, sheltering him as he rushed in close and was battered away by a wind whip thrown out by Sir Thetcher, Erwin's wingmate appearing from above.

"I have him!" Thetcher reported, batting the Salamander with a another wind whip that was partly disrupted by a wild swing of the Faerie's practice sword and then dispelled entirely as Sir Thetcher let out a yelp of surprise, sword spinning from his hand as the Spriggan fell in from above.

"Erwin!"

"Right!" Hitting the dazed Salamander with another clay shot to mark him out of the exercise, no good would come of staying here, the Spriggan was the one who had cast this spell, and until its effect faded, he would be the only one who could see past his own nose inside of it.

Bonaparte understood his intentions perfectly, spreading his wings to catch the gale that Erwin summoned to boost their shallow dive, this smokescreen couldn't go on forever, and where it broke he could get back out into the clear sky. Darkness lightening ahead, the sun bursting into view, and a dark silhouette erupting from its hart, turning to silver as the light caught pure white armor and six slender wings.

It was Erwin's turn to be dazzled, lashing out blindly with a wind whip, there was a no time for anything else as the Faerie came straight at him, tucking into an acrobatic roll as they clipped Bonaparte's long neck and tumbled free, already behind the Dragon Knight before he had even half recovered.

And with that, a triumphant whistle filled the morning air. Blinking and spluttering, Erwin felt for the streamer tied to his saddle and found it gone. Behind him, riding high in the air, the silver-white Faerie held the yellow piece of cloth above their head.

Erwin stared for a moment, then he shook his head and grinned, the match was theirs. Now to get back down to earth, staying up in the cold morning winds wasn't nearly as enjoyable after a loss.

There was a clearing not far from the edge of the training area, a small meadow in point of fact, where waiting dragons and Faeries would rest and prepare for their own drills, or regroup before traveling back to Champ de'Mars. By the time Bonaparte came gliding in, Thetcher and the two defeated Faeries were already set down after hearing the call that the exercise had been completed.

Erwin unclipped himself from his harness, patting his discouraged mount on the snout as he went. The drake had sensed his disappointment and was none too happy himself because of it. "There there boy, better luck on the next go." He promised. Two to four had seemed like a fair advantage for the Faeries the day before, it hardly seemed sporting this time around. Or so he thought as he neared the stream where the others were removing their gear to wash away the clay and dye dust.

"Puttt ptuii! Gah! This stuff tastes awful!" Was said in a belligerent tone of voice by the Faerie Knight, _female_, Faerie Knight who was presently rinsing her helmet in the fast flowing stream. Ah yes, Erwin admired, and also admired said Knight's aesthetic as she stripped off the heavier elements of her gear, one of the more sensible things about the Fae, they appreciated that the fairer sex were as able to run someone through as any man. "Hey, Vince, you sure this stuff isn't toxic? I think I might have swallowed some."

Rubbing his smarted wrist, Sir Vincent Thetcher, a burly, sandy haired man, gave a small nod. "It should be completely harmless, Dame Caramel."

Both Faeries perked up at once. "That's Ca-ra-mel-la!" Sung, badly, in unison.

"You really swallowed some of that stuff?" The second Faerie, a fiery haired and somewhat thuggish looking Salamander asked as he scratched at a stubble-covered chin. "How'd you manage that through your helmet? I mean," He lifted his own helm and tapped the opaque face, "These things don't even have eye holes!"

"Yeah, don't ask me what sorcery they use to do that." The Faerie woman supplied. "But the helmets are ventilated, you know, you still gotta breath, and you don't want these fogging up on you either." Dame Caramella groaned as she fell back on her rear, rubbing her shoulder. "Those things kinda hurt up close you know." The brown haired woman pursed her lips. "You really didn't need to hit me with three!" Giving Erwin an arch look that was only half serious.

"Consider it a show of my respect," Erwin bowed just as half seriously, "That I thought no less than three shots would be sufficient."

"Oy, still wasn't enough to keep us from a win." Sir Klein grinned triumphantly. "Score one for us." He shared a Faerie comradely gesture with Dame Caramella, the striking of open palms.

"It was our loss for losing track of you in the clouds." Erwin answered shortly without taking his eyes from Dame Caramel. "We were too confident after our success yesterday. Though I must say I'm impressed by that showing, your plan led us perfectly into your trap."

"Plan?" Klein and Caramella said together, sharing a lost look.

"Certainly!" Erwin blinked, mystified. "Diving on us without your wings, the smokescreen, surely that was all set up for your trap!"

"I'm sorry to say it . . ." Approaching at his back, the Knight of silver-white, adorned in sleek armor and helm, still holding her prize, and the Spriggan Knight in nearly identical lightweight, dark Amalgam armor. " . . . There really wasn't any plan."

"No plan? But surely . . . " Erwin fell quiet as Dame Asuna removed her helm and shook out matted hair. Her less than ladylike presentation aside, the lovely young Lieutenant Commander of the Yggdrasil Knight's looked almost embarrassed when she smiled.

"The truth is that we didn't know which plan would work, so we just thought we'd try everything!"


	19. Chapter 4 Part 2: Lessons

So, I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as an info dump, but here goes.

Halkegenia Online v3 - Chapter 4 - Part 2

"Keep your eyes open, Kirito-kun!"

"They are open." A closed eyed Kirito insisted firmly. "I can see just fine." He was sitting up, his posture was correct and his head was forward, he was by all definitions awake 'except' for the part about having his eyes open.

"Kirito-kun . . ."

Cracking an eye, he made out Asuna's clearly displeased frown, the Maeve seated in the chair next to him, head leaned again her hand, elbow propped up on the table. It wasn't like she wasn't tired too.

When they had first arrived at the Champ de'Mars facility, Kirito hadn't been at all sure what to expect from military training. He had a vague idea, based on movies, documentaries, and news stories he'd watched and read in Japan, and to an extent, from his own miserable time practicing Kendo under the tutelage of his grandfather.

After their first couple of days, the Spriggan swordsman had decided that his expectations hadn't been entirely wrong. Waking up early, long before the sun was set to rise, being yelled at by instructors in a hoarse voice, and being assigned to what felt like countless drills and exercises, some which made sense, and some which he had to wonder what was the point.

He had never expected, however, just how much time he would end up spending in the classroom. It made sense, he supposed, and he should have realized sooner just how much work had to be done to fit Faeries into the army of Tristain, and how much of that work would involve studying, classes, and meetings.

Mouth opening wide, Kirito yawned. Getting up early for drills, and then sitting on his butt for the rest of the morning, it wasn't very good for keeping awake.

"The instructors aren't even here yet." Kirito said simply. "I'm saving my emergency energy reserves for when they get here."

Reluctantly opening his eyes enough to gain more than a tiny fraction of his field of vision, Kirito stifled another yawn as he surveyed the room that took up the entirety of one of the camp's wood framed buildings. The classroom was bigger than what he would have been used to in Japanese schools, wider, and longer, with a higher, lofted ceiling overhead.

The floor rose in steps from the front of the room so that the rear tables had a view over those in front, more like a university classroom, and instead of individual desks, there were simply made benches that were shared by four people, set three across and four deep. At the front of the room, a simple table and podium had been placed in front of a blackboard that dominated the entire front wall.

It was a sensible layout, Kirito thought, he'd been told that the room was used to teach officer cadets and Dragon Knight recruits, but that just made it feel somehow too normal, crazy as that sounded, like it didn't belong in this world at all. Maybe if Halkegenia wasn't full of so much mundane fantasy, but he'd seen mage officer receiving a package delivered by _Pelican_that morning at breakfast, the Pelican hadn't stopped pestering and left until it had gotten paid.

He'd had to ask Asuna and Klein to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, both had declined to comment.

'They use Pelicans to deliver mail order packages . . .' Kirito's sleep deprived brain had turned this fact over and over again. 'I don't know if that's cool or just_weird_.'

"Well, just remember you have to keep some of that emergency energy for after class." Asuna warned with all the authority and poise of her position. "We have a meeting with Lord Mortimer and General Eugene after this. They'll want reports on the new training exercises."

"Right, right" Kirito waved a hand vaguely as he closed his eyes again. "Lots of paperwork." Lord Mortimer had taken his joke about a twenty page report as a challenge. But it had to be done.

Crossing his arms and taking the opportunity to sit back in his chair, Kirito's close eyed frown deepened. "I don't think we're going to have much good to say about the flag capture exercise. We learned a lot about Dragon maneuvers because of it, but it really isn't a very good training simulation."

"That's true." Asuna's voice took on a discourage note. "Maybe we can make it work once magic training has made some progress, but it's not much use right now. Drat, and it looked so good on paper."

"But to make it safe, we had to make it into too much of a game." Kirito observed.

Asuna's answer only came after several heartbeats of silence. "That's right . . ." She agreed softly. Kirito cracking his eye again to regard his wife with concern. "We don't have much time to figure things out," Asuna said with restored resolved, "We can't afford to take anything for granted."

The Faeries of ALfheim were doing something that just months ago not a single one of them would have believed was possible, they were going to war. Joining with Tristain to defend against Albion's aggression and maybe even launching a counterattack to retake the floating continent.

It was something that almost everyone had been talking about for months now, discussion about the war effort was starting to take up big parts of the Arrun Daily in almost every issue, and the message boards were buzzing with opinions.

One thing that was very clear to Kirito was that they didn't really have a choice one way or another. As soon as they had been reborn in this world, the Fae had been destined to oppose Reconquista's ambitions. That had been true even if they hadn't fought to rescue Asuna and the other SAO survivors and helped to save Prince Wales.

But it was turning out to be harder than he had expected, and from much earlier. The problem was that no one was quite sure how Faeries should fit into an army. Fighting a war was very different from organizing raids against other factions in ALO, or even the life and death boss battles of SAO.

Even Lord Mortimer and General Gramont, two of the best military minds in Tristain, had many, _many_ questions.

What were Faeries capable of? How could they be used best? Were they good scouts, or did their limited flight time and glowing wings make them too obvious? Were Cait Syth dragoons better for fighting battleships or attacking ground formations? How strong and fast was an 'average' Faerie? What was their endurance? And how did Faerie magic work and interact with Halkegenian magic?

Those were just some of the questions that they were working hard to answer with exercises like the one this morning and the day before. What worked would be kept and improved, and what didn't work, they'd learn from and throw out.

It wasn't simple, but that was the way it had to be.

The sound of the classroom door opening again and everyone falling silent alerted Kirito, a pair of footfalls, it should be just about that time, the Spriggan leaned forward, his chair coming to rest on all four legs as he opened his eyes.

The room was filled to capacity with both Faerie and human attendants. The Tristanians too, needed to learn more about Faerie magic so that they knew what their allies were capable of, just like the Faeries needed to know as much as possible about the practical aspects of Elemental human magic.

People had taken seats as they arrived, pockets of Faeries and humans sitting wherever there had been room. Kirito seated beside Asuna, Lieutenant Gramont sitting cross armed beside his wingmate Sir Thetcher, and Klein further forward along with Schmitt and Caramella.

The arriving instructors were, in keeping with their audience, a Faerie and a human, and judging by the appreciative murmurs coming from the front rows, and the way that Klein's head had just perked up, one of them was probably female. Kirito was only half right, they were both women.

"Oh shit . . . "The Spriggan's ears perked at the curse spoken under breath by a Mage Captain seated a table over. ". . . It's her!"

'Her' being a severe looking strawberry blonde of average height and build, wearing a no nonsense blouse and skirt, and adorned with half-moon spectacles of the type that generally got adjusted a lot when their wearer was displeased.

A few of the other mages made very softly whispered comments that Kirito couldn't quite make out, but which he suspected were in agreement with the first before suddenly shutting up as the woman swept them all with a gaze that could have incinerated the deep jungles around Muisca with no trouble at all.

She didn't say a word until she was done taking the class in, simply nodding and making straight for the podium where she set down her clipboard and carefully extracted a collapsible wand from her breast pocket.

"Good morning Ladies . . . Gentlemen." She seemed to glare the hardest at the men who had made noises earlier. Three mages in particularly, including the Captain who had spoken first, seemed to wilt away.

Leaning back at the podium, the disapproving look was wiped away as if by magic to be replaced by a pleasant enough smile. "Now then, is everyone here? Nobody is tardy right? Good! As I'm sure you're all well aware, today's lecture is an instructional introduction and summary to the practicals of applied magic theory of the Sacred Pentagonal Elemental Form magic and Magic Disciplines of the Faerie Races of ALfheim. I will be serving as one of your instructors, I am Eleanor Albertine Le Blanc de La Blois de La Valliere of the Tristain Royal Academia."

Valliere? Kirito caught Asuna's look from the corner of his eye. The Valliere family was powerful, but not exactly numerous . . . And the Duke did have _three _daughters. Was that a coincidence?

The unspoken question was swallowed up as the second instructor stepped forward.

The impression of her was like someone had set a birch tree on fire, at the peak of _fall. _There was no doubting that she was a Salamander. Pale, and slight, to the point that her thick, and very messy, rust red hair made her look almost top heavy as it fanned past her shoulders and down to her waist. High forehead sprouted a pair of bushy eyebrows that would have been comical if they weren't scrunched up in a cute frown.

She was dressed in a blood red skirt and short jacket, an almost academic uniform, the sort of gear that most salamander mages had worn under their robes in ALO.

She didn't appear even close to as intimidating as the human woman beside her, in fact, she was almost tiny. Coughing loudly into her hand, the Salamander girl introduced herself. "Good morning to you all, for those of you who don't know me, my name is Enya, I am one of representatives of the Faerie Court to the Tristain Academia and have been asked to furnish you all with synopsis of our findings in the practical applications of Faerie magic." Bowing politely, she finished. "Please try to keep up, I have no patients for stupid people. Thank you."

Stupid people? Kirito tilted his head towards Klein who was in the middle of giving the small salamander girl an enthusiastic thumbs up that went thankfully unnoticed by the other attendants. Wait, hadn't Klein mentioned a girl named Enya before? A mage in his squad during the Dunkirk evacuation and . . .

Kirito glanced from Klein and back to the female Salamander who seemed to be very carefully avoiding minding any attention to him.

A few chuckles rose up from the Faeries in the room after Enya finished her introduction, mostly from the Salamander and Undine Mages who had arrived after Kirito and Asuna and stuck cliquishly to themselves, they weren't from any of the Knight training Cadres, he could tell that much at least, so probably defense force volunteers or mob patrol trainees.

"Oy, Enya-chan, so the Crimson Witch is a teacher now? When did this happen?"

"Is there a problem with that?" Enya faced the seated Salamander, brow curving archly. Suddenly, she looked exactly as dangerous as the Valliere woman.

"It just doesn't seem like you to be a teacher, Enya-_sensei_." The Salamander mage chuckled. "It doesn't suit your personality at all."

"You can go burn in hell, Jiitakasu." Enya replied conversationally, raising her left hand with her index and middle fingers pointed upwards in a gesture that primed a prepared spell, a dangerous little ember of light dancing like a flame atop her fingertips. "In fact, I can send you there if you like."

The Salamander and his small group of fellow mages weren't laughing anymore.

"While you chuckleheads were busy exterminating previously unknown and uncatalogued mob species, and risking mass arson incidents on a daily basis, some of us were getting more productive work done. Things like quantifying the magic system that we barely know anything about but use every single day." Enya waved the flame at her fingertips away and crossed her arms. "Namely, cataloging the attributes of our magic and how it compares and contrasts with the native magic of Halkegenia. Believe me, everyone in the research division has been working hard to summarize our findings, Lord Mortimer and the Faerie court would not have asked me if I wasn't up to the task. Now then, any more questions before we begin?"

There were none. "Good."

Eleanor returned to speaking next, reading over her notes. "Now then, the first order of business is a brief overview, discussing Pentagonal Element Theory will be a review of your school days for half of you buy please bear with it, for now, we'll start with Miss Enya's findings about Faerie magic for those who haven't been keeping abreast."

Nodding politely, Enya accepted a place behind the podium. "Right, I'm sure that just about every Faerie here has a little experience using magic by now. Raise your hand if you don't."

There were no raised hands. Like Enya had said, even those Faeries with little interest in fighting had taken time to learn a little basic magic by now, particularly the Utility Class of spells, originally a branch of noncombat puzzle and entertainment magic, which had become more broadly appreciated in the absence of laborsaving technology.

Even Asuna and Caramella, who hadn't had much need to cast magic in self-defense, had mastered the basic spells by now, learning to channel their magic to cast lights, create small fires and reflective barriers, energize certain magic items, and perform simple elemental manipulation. The beginner spells were arranged so that almost anyone could master them immediately.

And so, Enya looked satisfied that she could proceed. "Alright then, I'm going to assume then that all of the Faeries here can name the basic disciplines of ALfheim magic."

Somehow, Kirito wasn't surprised that Klein raised his hand the second the question was asked. A few more rose slowly, and inevitably, Enya went about picking an Undine to supply the answer.

The slim, silver haired man stood up from his seat, holding a fist resolutely over his chest. "There are ten basic classes of magic within the ALfheim spell system, nine are specialties of the different ALfheim races and the tenth is not affiliated with any faction. Earth, Fire, Wind, Water, Darkness, Shadow, Enchantment, Music, Nature, and Holy."

As the Undine spoke, Enya occupied herself with writing out the list of magic types on the board, first in earth script and then in the Halkegenian standard alphabet for the benefit of the human mages.

The result was ten neat rows of laser-leveled handwriting that became only slightly sloppier when copying the unfamiliar Tristanian letters.

A murmur rose up from the Tristanian mages as Enya finished writing on the board. The noises weren't hostile, but they didn't sound pleased either. It was because of what had just been said, Kirito mused, Halkegenian mages took their magic system almost as a dogma, one that just happened to be able to get tangible results. Faerie magic, like the magic used by Firstborns and Spirits, must have been seen as verging on the sacrilegious.

"Pardon me." Sir Thetcher raised a hand and waited to speak.

"Yes?"

"If I may be so bold, you referred to the magics of ALfheim by discipline just now, not element? Was this deliberate, or was it an error with your Gift of Tongues?"

Eyes returned to Enya, the small salamander's expression holding a satisfied glint. "I'm happy that someone was paying attention. ALO's lore refers to the different magic types as elements, and it isn't a bad way to describe them, but among the Academia and independent researchers, we've started to think of them as _disciplines_ because of the variety of overlaps from element to element. For instance," Enya sketched out a stick figure with stylized Sylph wings and scribbled in a lightning bolt striking, and frying, a Dragon Knight. "Wind magic is the basis of the Faerie spell Fenrir Storm, which delivers an ultra-high voltage electrical attack by means of a plasma medium, in other words, a lightning strike."

Enya remained silent as what she had said was allowed to sink in. After being on the receiving end of a Halkegenia-style lightning attack, Kirito was pretty sure he knew what the mages were all thinking. Among Halkegenian magic, manipulating electricity was an exceedingly rare ability, but for Faeries it was just a standard, albeit high level, spell.

Satisfied that she had their undivided attention, the Salamander went on, sketching a stick figure with Salamander wings producing a giant of flames to burn a stick skeleton to ashes.

"But unlike Halkegenia's elements our Fire magic can achieve a similar effect with the close range single target spell Plasmoid Spear. From experiments we can safely say that both spells achieve their effects by different physical phenomena but have similar results in creating and directing a high energy and extremely devastating plasma."

Spinning back to face the classroom she concluded. "This isn't the only overlap either. All of the racial aligned magic can be used to cast barriers and single target attack spells effectively, and more esoteric spells like Searching Tracer, Scanner, and Peeper are available across all disciplines. Most notably, both Darkness and Holy magics possess clairvoyance related spells and Holy magic shares healing abilities with Water Magic."

"I've been informed that Sacred Elemental magic is usually considered the imposition of the users will on the world by means of harnessing the elements which they then direct on their behalf. So it would therefore be deceptive to use the term element to describe what each of the Faerie magics governs and it is better for now to think of them as different disciplines, each comprising a theme. Does that explain the question?"

Sir Thetcher blinked owlishly as he absorbed the information like a punch to the chest, visibly rocking back in his seat. "Y-yes, I do believe that is good enough. Quite a bit more detailed than I was expecting."

"Of course." Enya admitted calmly. "This is simply conjecture based on studying patterns in the spell language and observing the phenomena that result. Now then, ten points for being able to name the ten basic disciplines, that's like remembering to breath while walking . . . "

"As you all no doubt also know, each of these magics with the exception of Holy Magic is associated with one of the Faerie Races who possess its elemental affinity. Wind Magic is the Domain of Sylphs, Fire Magic belongs to us Salamanders, Earth Magic is Gnomes, and Water Magic is Undines. Those are all pretty self-explanatory and follow the usual fantasy tropes."

"Now." The Salamander rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "This is where things get interesting. The Cait Syth have a truncated spell list comprising Nature Magic which is pretty environmentally dependent and includes spells that are very effective at manipulating mobs and wild beasts. This complements their natural aptitudes as beast tamers almost perfectly."

The handful of cat ears in the room perked in delight.

"Puca have their Music Magic, which other than sounding absolutely awesome, is the best at casting wide area buffs and debuffs along with a wide range of other status effects. Even better, Pucas can Harmonize their music to amplify their magic even further in groups, and when led by a Maestro, every musician following her lead benefits from the Maestro's casting efficiency."

Kirito blinked as he sat back in his chair, he'd known that Pucas got stronger when casting as part of a band, which was why they were always kept together rather than being divided up for Mob patrols, but the comment about a Maestro had been news to him. It explain why Noel, the Puca watch Captain, always had a mage-like wand on her person.

"Leprechauns are a bit more unusual still, their specialty is smithing and crafting and their magic affinities have almost everything to do with Enchantments."

"Powerful elemental enhancements." Lieutenant Gramont muttered seriously.

"Thank you so much for doing my job for me." Enya's eyelids drooped dangerously. "But that's not incorrect. Enchantments can provide temporary improvements to materials like weapons and armor, or as we've discovered in our experiments, other inanimate materials such as the walls of castles and hulls of warships. Leprechauns can also temporarily imbue weapons with elemental properties and create durable magic enhancements by combining spell casting with their crafting."

Which would probably make Liz happy, Kirito thought, she'd always joked about making an authentic 'magic' sword in SAO, now she'd really have the opportunity.

"That leaves Spriggans and Imps and their affinities of Shadow and Darkness Magic respectively."

Kirito was all ears for this part. Too many close calls had finally convinced him to buckle down and take Suguha's often repeated advice to become familiar with magic. He'd been reluctant at first after his experiment with Mimic, which had been stupid on his part, and then letting himself get distracted as things unfolded hadn't helped much either.

It would have been excusable in ALO where the point was to have fun and death had no consequence but a reduction in stats, he probably would have focused entirely on his swordsmanship and trying to replicate his Aincrad play style if that were still the case, but that sort of thinking would just get him, and other people, killed.

Kirito watched Asuna, focusing intently on every word. Her old drive had really come out since they'd arrived for training and he knew she had every intention of fighting with all of her strength. He'd resolved to use every tool at his disposal from now on.

"And don't ask why two different magic types have similar names, I didn't come up with them." Enya said. "Shadow magic is the specialty of Spriggans and governs illusion spells as well as a wide range of constructs. Smoke screens, shadow clones, optical illusions, altering physical forms, and transforming into beasts are all governed by this type of magic. In particular, anyone whose studied up on the transmogrification type spells probably knows by now that Bestial Form has become even nastier in this real world, so it's apparently not a complete waste of time to learn it if you've got decent stats, just mind winding up in the buff."

The fire mage who Enya had called Jiitakasu was looking decidedly paler now, and again, Kirito felt familiarity nag at him. He was sure they'd met before.

"Which brings us to the Imp specialty, Darkness Magic, or as Darkness mages like to call it, bottled chaos. I'm sure anyone who had picked a fight with the Imps or a renegade Gank squad knows that Darkness Magic covers a wide range of destructive and status effect spells, and esoteric magic like the rapid linear movement spell Blink. This is a very destructive magic, and some are also very difficult to use safely when they aren't outright suicide spells."

A lot of the Halkegenians were growing uncomfortable again. Darkness magic really hadn't gotten a very good reputation in Halkegenia and it was problem that only partly due to its sinister name. The fact that it was a magic style preferred for its destructive element and that it was most often wielded by Imps, who bore an uncanny resemblance to native Vampires, definitely didn't help either.

"Don't give me that look!" Enya declared smartly. "Darkness Magic has a lot more going for it. For one thing, Clairvoyance type spells like Moonlight Mirror and Astral Projection are also part of Darkness Magic and some of the strongest spells in ALfheim are in its domain."

"That leaves the unaligned discipline, Holy Magic, which comprises non-elemental spells and certain types of healing and purification magic. Mostly though, it's a magic that enhances or adds properties to other types of magic. The highest level of Darkness Magic spells are actually reached by combining with this element, and resurrection magic used to be a combination of Water and Holy type Magic as well. Those spells may not be able to bring back the dearly departed anymore, but they can still draw you back from death's door so don't underestimate them!"

"Now that we have the basic disciplines of magic all account for." The Salamander girl pointed a finger back to the Undine who had answered her first question. "You said ten basic classes." Enya answered with another question. "So what are the non-basic classes?"

The Undine paused and then grimaced. "Pardon?"

"There are the ten basic disciplines, and there are also advanced disciplines that come from combining more than one, what are they?"

The man didn't answer, beginning to fidget.

"Never mind." Enya sighed. "Next person."

There were considerably fewer raised hands this time around, those that remained were inevitably among the mage build players. "Jun." Enya pointed to one of the companions of the Salamander who had spoken earlier, a slight and effeminate boy that Kirito thought looked naggingly familiar.

"It's a trick question." Jun supplied as soon as he was called and then corrected by adding, "Well, not a trick question exactly, all of the different magic disciplines can be combined with spells from at least one other discipline, so there are at least one hundred sub classes of spells, but . . ."

"There aren't nearly that many sub classes in the official spell lists." Enya agreed. "There are also boss-only spells that can combine magic properties of three or more magic disciplines which probably means that even more complex spells are possible and may have even been hidden in ALO as special rewards for people who completed hidden quests or cracked the language code. But I digress," The fiery little Salamander turned sharply on her heel to pace beside the board, "The important things to take from this is that there are two classes of spell, mono and composite types and how these further complicate magic progression. In addition there are advanced specialties of the mono type spells, like lightning magic, which can also be considered separately."

"In ALO it was well known that when a spell caster's magic level increased, the mana consumption for lower level spells in their discipline diminished in turn. This seems to be true now as well, experienced magic users can cast many more times before exhaustion begins to set in and they can no longer form their magic. We have had reported cases of people managing to overcome this limit and continue casting under extreme circumstances but the side-effects have ranged from nausea and vomiting all the way up to unconsciousness and severe hemorrhaging from the nose, ears, and eyes. Please do not try to replicate their stupidity! I really don't want see someone adding death to that list."

"With that said, the fastest way to gain useful proficiency in magic is to pick a discipline and start practicing." Reaching for a parcel she had left on the front table, the Salamander held up a small, simply bound booklet that Kirito had grown to know very well recently having received the first edition for free from the author. "You should all have had one of these issued when you arrived." Enya pointed to the title.

'Beginner's Magic Vol. 1: Don't Worry It's Argo's Grimoire!'

"I happen to have helped the author put this together, its full of good stuff, I especially like the mnemonics that she came up with for memorizing the spells and the visualization techniques that she's described to help perform them properly. It's a lot like the suggested spell list that's been posted in towns, you should all have no difficulty using them safely. There are ten basic spells from each of the ten magic types, and ten shared spells that you all should be sure to know."

Enya looked up, sweeping the room with a serious gaze. "I'm not going to tell anyone which magic type to choose as their focus during training, just that you're an idiot if you don't develop your affinity before branching too far into the other magic types. Practice for the next four weeks will be gaining perfect mastery of the ten general spells and ten spells of your chosen discipline. Make sense? Any questions?"

Klein was one of the first hands up again, this time Enya picked him. "Yes?"

"Oy, I just wanted to ask, Enya-ch . . . Sensei. You said you were studying patterns in the Spell Language and that some spells might be hidden as rewards for people who figured it out. Does that mean people could, like, make up their own spells?"

A ripple of curious murmurs rose up all over the room. It had definitely been talked about before. Speculating about magic, either idle theorizing, or outright experimentation in the case of the more reckless, was practically a pastime for some Faeries. Kirito hadn't heard of anyone making a break through, but if Enya was trusted by the Faerie Court she was probably the closest thing they had to an expert on the subject.

"That's difficult to answer at this time." Enya replied shortly. "Given the shear level of realization of the rest of ALfheim, it's definitely a possibility. My colleagues and I have been researching the magic language extensively to try and dissect these patterns. We'll get back to you if you we make any headway."

There were other questions, some of which Enya answered politely, others which she put down with complete contempt before eventually handing the rest of the class over to Miss Eleanor.

Between her cheerful tone of voice and the way that she cracked her wand dangerously against the table whenever she thought that the class' patience was wondering, nobody took their eyes off of the human mage as she provided a summary of human elemental magic, describing the Five Elements Theory and the way that Elemental Magic stacked to form more sophisticated spells through the geometric system, from dot, to line, to triangle, and ultimately square.

The mages in the room simply gave small nods as they listened, like they knew it all by heart, which they probably did. Magic was to them what math and computer logic classes had been for Kazuto in Japan, before SAO, before ALO and all of this.

There was a lot take in and most of the rest of the class was given over to Enya and Eleanor taking turns summarizing observations about how Halkegenian and Faerie magics interacted with one another, a subject that felt like it could have been, and probably would be several class sessions in length.

And Kirito had thought he and Asuna had been helping to figure things out, it seemed like the research groups had been collecting an amazing amount of information themselves. It must have been making Argo super happy.

"So in conclusion, a Halkegenian Mage is likely to have an advantage in terms of speed and diverting elemental type spells, using your spells creatively and keeping mobile is essential!" Enya finished. "Everyone please make sure to select an element for practice and have the mnemonics memorized by next week!"

"That's all the time we have." Miss Eleanor announced. "Class is dismissed!"

'Did she have to say it like that?' Kirito wondered. Some of the Faeries in the room might have been younger than they looked, but all of the Dragon Knights and mage officers should have been adults. Instead, they were hurrying for the door like school kids, speaking among themselves and some of their new Faerie allies as they departed in for their next engagements or in search of lunch.

"Mmmm-man!" Caramella groaned as she stretched worked her shoulder, accompanied by Klein. "Thought that was never going to end. You know, if I'd known we'd be taking lessons, I would have packed my old school uniform. Come to think of it," Caramella gave an experimental wriggle, "It'd probably still fit."

"Guess this means I'll be getting a lot of practice with fire magic." Klein grunted. "Like I haven't singed my poor eyebrows enough."

"I thought Salamanders were fire proof." Caramella chided, ribbing Klein gently in the shoulder.

"Fire _resistant_!" Klein corrected. "There's a _difference_. By the way," Klein grew more serious, "I know Kirito is sticking to his shadow magic, but what about you and Caramella, Asuna?"

Asuna smiled sincerely. "I've been thinking about it a little, the problem is that I don't really know what I'd be good at, I sent a letter to Kimura-kun at TRIST to see if he remembered anything when he peaked at my stats in ALO, but he said he was rushed when he read them and couldn't remember if I had any racial bonuses. I was going to experiment to see if anything clicks, but if I not, I think I'll probably focus on wind magic since it's a more highspeed style."

"Us Nymphs don't have any special affinities either." Caramella said, using the catch all phrase for the generic beta test race that each of the SAO survivors save for Asuna had been reborn as. "But we also don't have anything we suck at, so I'm kind of free to choose whatever. I thought I'd try Shadow magic, seems pretty cool, plus that Bestial Form spell is pretty badass."

Kirito grinned sheepishly. "That's only really because of how broken my stats were." He defended. When he'd talked with Morgiana about it she'd mentioned that the boss mob he transformed into was even tougher and stronger than her own Black Hawk transformation. It really was a totally unfair advantage, but without it, he'd have probably died twice by now. And if that was how it was, he'd keep his feelings about fairness to himself.

"Hey, the army wasn't _that _far behind the front lines. I should at least be able to pull off a kickass Dire Wolf or Reap Claw!" Caramella grinned with delight. It seemed she'd really gotten into the mood to learn magic recently.

"Oy, knowing you, you'd probably turn into a giant badger. Violent and ill tempered." Klein pointed out.

"And awesome! I mean, have you ever seen a badger? They're like a miniature bear! A giant miniature bear with magic!" Asuna smiled nervously as Caramella began to cackle.

Kirito traded looks with Klein. They might have just created a monster.

"Well then, we have to on our way." The Spriggan youth patted his oldest remaining friend on the shoulder. "Asuna and I have to meet with Lord Mortimer and . . . gah!" Kirito nearly walked out from under himself as the collar of his shirt was locked perfectly in place, pinning the rest of him along with it.

"Not so fast."

"Kirito-kun!" Asuna spun back around at his shout, meeting the perfectly serene and calm smile of the strawberry blonde Eleanor de La Valliere at the same time that she let go of Kirito.

"So you _are_ Sir Kazuto. Good, then I didn't waste favors getting this assignment." Even before her eyes opened, revealing a gaze far more icy than her smile, Kirito was also on alert.

"Excuse me?" Kirito coughed politely. "Uhm, Valliere-Sensei . . . Do you need something?

The woman in front of him planted hands formidably on her hips. "As a matter of fact. I need some answers. Mother and Father haven't been very forthcoming." And then she did something interesting, her smile vanished completely without ever fading. "I'd like to know what happened to my little sister."


	20. Chapter 4 Part 3 Need to Know

Halkegenia Online v3 – Chapter 4 – Part 3

"I'd like to know just what happened to my sister." Words spoken by the strawberry blonde instructor who had just put herself directly between the quartet of Faeries and their chief means of escape.

'My Sister'. Eleanor Valliere, in other words, sister to Louise Valliere. Not good!

Even before the doors and windows of the empty classroom shut of their own accord with a series of ominous -clicks-, closing them off from the outside world, Klein was already at full alert, blood racing and palms itching as he grabbed for the hilt of the sword that was conveniently not in his possession at the moment. Along with his armor, he had returned his preferred weapon to the armory after morning drills.

Damn this real world that lacked Safe Zones!

Klein wasn't the only one, Caramella and Asuna were thinking the exact same thing as the Valliere woman took a step forward that managed to seem both completely harmless and utterly terrifying at the same time. Not that she could really mean to attack them or anything . . . right?

"I know that you were the one with mother and Louise the night that she disappeared." Miss Eleanor's hand hovered over the slim holster that held her wand like a cowboy in some American Western. Man, Klein had hated those when he was a kid. "So, spill it."

Pinned under an accusatory glare, Kirito held his ground like a champ, then again, Klein thought, that seemed to be Kirito's luck with the ladies. Too bad he couldn't turn on the charm with this one.

"What happened to my sister? What happened to Louise?"

Kirito held his tongue, turning to look away from Miss Eleanor and to hide the grimace that he shared with Klein and Asuna. "I'm sorry . . . I'm not allowed to say."

And he _wasn't_, Klein thought, being sworn to secrecy by order of the Queen hadn't just been for show, breathing a word about Louise Valliere and the power that had dragged ALfheim into this real world carried the penalty of death. It was a state secret of the highest level. If Eleanor de La Valliere didn't need to know, she wasn't going to be finding out from them.

Not that saying something like that was going to make her the least bit happy.

"Not good enough." Eleanor growled, eyes narrowing behind the frames of her half-moon glasses. "Where is Louise? Who took her?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to say." Kirito repeated once more. Asuna stepped forward, taking Kirito's hand and squeezing tightly.

"Why can't you say?" Eleanor's voice rose.

"I'm not allowed to say." Kirito repeated resolutely.

"You were there though, weren't you?" Eleanor took another step. She wasn't very tall, in fact, Klein had a good few centimeters on her, but she managed to loom over Kirito. "I have to know, was my Sister alright? Please!"

The magic word, Klein felt for Kirito as the Spriggan winced. It was a low blow, but if there was anything that would hit Kirito hard it was mentioning family, the way he cherished his own sister, and the way he treated Asuna and Yui, he just couldn't _not_relate to that.

But Kirito was also a heck of a lot stronger than he looked, and in more ways than one, and he had Asuna backing him up. Squeezing his wife's hand, the Spriggan swordsman took a deep breath.

"Please, I'm very sorry, but I can't . . ."

His reply was cut off as Eleanor let out a cry, half between anger and grief, the air around them suddenly rippled into a short lived tempest, rattling the windows and whipping up discarded papers before dying away. Klein was still recalling the chant for a barrier spell before a louder knocking at the door signaled that someone had realized something was amiss.

"Why can't you tell me?!" The instructor cried out without regard for who might hear, or even for the dampness that glimmered at the corners of her eyes. "What are mother and father hiding from us?!"

"Valliere-sensei!" The door to the class room burst open to admit Enya, the Salamander girl's loose outer robes flapping as she hurried to see what was causing all the commotion.

Kirito simply stood there, taking it all in, Miss Eleanor's grief, and her frustration, maybe even the resentment she was directing, unfairly, his way, like it was Kirito's fault that her sister was missing. Which was bogus, Kirito had stuck his neck out to try and haul Miss Pinkie Pie back in and had nearly gotten himself and his own daughter killed for his trouble.

"I sword an oath for everyone's sake. I'm sorry." Kirito said quietly, without any other garnish. Just . . . "Sorry."

That was it, Klein thought, this had gone on long enough. The hell of it was that he really got where she was coming from, but he thought of himself as a friend to Kirito, he definitely wasn't going to let someone hassle a friend like this. All it was going to do was make the guy feel more like crap and leave Miss Eleanor feeling lousy herself when she found out she wouldn't get what she wanted.

Of course, he could also just be making himself a target for her pent up frustration, but that was okay too, his Faerie body was pretty tough, after all.

"Oy, Miss Eleanor." Klein raised a hand as he got between her and Kirito. "Why don't you lay off Kirito a bit?"

The reply was as immediate as it was hostile, looking him over suspiciously. "And just _who_ are _you_?" She said with about the same level of contempt and scorn Klein was used to getting on the days when his old boss was paying forward a particularly lousy meeting with his own superiors.

"The name's Klein." The Salamander thumbed his headband confidently. And if she hadn't heard about him being assigned to Louise's guard detail, it meant she'd only gotten Kirito's name from . . . somewhere. But if she was a Valliere, she probably had her sources.

'Argo's going to want to know so she can plug holes.'

"Klein?" Eleanor squinted, lips moving as if she was reading something from memory. "Then you know my sister."

"Uhm . . . what?" Klein stopped. "Well yeah . . ."

"So, you're the Salamander that Louise mentioned in her letters." The Valliere woman gave him another look over, this time as if she was actually appraising rather than studying something disgusting.

Really? Klein was given pause, he'd really left that much of an impression on Pinkie Pie that she'd written home about him? He'd left an impression on a girl!

Okay, a couple of years on the young side still, but it still counted for practice damn it! And it must have been a positive impression if . . . "Unkempt, unrefined, and lackadaisical, a Faerie who is even more infuriatingly inscrutable than all of the others combined." Klein came crashing down from his high. Then, as if satisfied with the destruction she had wrought, Eleanor nodded once.

"Ouch, low blow." Caramella snickered in his ear.

Klein finished dusting himself off mentally just in time for round two. "So . . ." Eleanor tilted her head. "Do you know anything about this? And what?"

Unbelievable, this woman was a member of the Academia, weren't they supposed to be like magical scientists or something? She sure seemed ready to keep asking the same question . . . or . . . oh . . . The ranting had stopped, and so had the angry looks, they'd been blown out, leaving only Eleanor, just standing there, waiting desperately for answers.

Which left Klein in a tough spot since he was sworn to secrecy too. "Like Kirito said, we're sorry." The Salamander said slowly. "We're really not allowed to say anything about it at all, even admitting that there's something we're not supposed to talk about could get us in big trouble."

The kind of trouble that ended with a short drop and a sudden stop. Queen Henrietta might have liked them all enough not to do_that,_ but he didn't think the Duchess felt the same way. In fact, now that he thought about it, she'd probably spent time thinking out ways to hang a Faerie if she had to.

"Just think about where we're coming from here." Klein pleaded.

Miss Eleanor chewed at her lip, looking first to Klein, then to Kirito and Asuna, each of them nodded in turn that he'd told the truth. At last, Eleanor's eyes fell on Caramella who raised her hands defensively.

"Hey, I know about as much as you. It's need-to-know, and I don't need to know, I don't _want_ to know if it's that important." Dropping her hands to her sides, the Nymph sighed softly. "Still, I'm sorry to hear about your sister, she seemed like a good kid when I met her."

That was what Klein had thought too, and still thought. Louise had seemed like a good kid, really on the straight and narrow until things had suddenly started falling apart around her ears, anyone would have broken down after learning something like _that_. And if Louise really had decided to go with her kidnappers like Klein had heard, well, she probably had her good reasons. Just like they'd have their good reasons when they found her and dragged her back.

Damn, couldn't say that either.

"She is." Eleanor breathed softly, shaking her head, "When she isn't being a perfect fool. This was a waste of my time . . . " Regaining some of her lost fire, she glanced to Asuna. "I don't suppose there's anything that you _weren't_ told to keep a secret."

A small shake of Asuna's head and another sigh.

"You're that desperate for clues?" Kirito asked. Good thing, it meant someone was doing their job right.

"Can you blame me?" For the first time since grabbing Kirito by the collar, Eleanor looked to have cooled off, resting back against the edge of one of the classroom tables. "She's my _sister_ after all. Mother and father haven't told us a thing but that Louise was kidnapped."

Eleanor scowled, something that she did with as much practice as her glares. "But who would kidnap our baby sister? She's an inexprime blunt, barely a mage at all," which made for three Faeries who were very good at holding poker faces and one who didn't know any better, Klein thought, "And she's not in line to inherit anything of much note. Mother and father would do almost anything to get her back, but even they can't move if it's a state secret."

"They're treating us like we're still children." Eleanor hissed irritably. "Well that's enough of that! But this is the only lead I have."

Kirito closed his eyes and spoke to no one in particular. "If the Crown of Tristain has decided to declare something top secret, they must have very good reasons for it to be that way."

"I'll be sure to keep that as a comfort while wondering what has become of one of my own family." Eleanor grumbled back.

Klein breathed a sigh, not that he wasn't happy to avoid blowing state secrets, but the atmosphere of the room had grown subdued, even though Eleanor had avoided blowing the whole place flat. 'Great, now what?' Klein wondered, they couldn't bend the rules for her, and this was probably going to have to be reported, which could get her in trouble . . .

"Excuse me. Ah, Eleanor-sensei." Enya's small voice called for everyone's attention.

Adjusting her wind-whipped robes, the small Salamander looked to have heard most of the conversation. Crap! Enya was definitely inquisitive enough to try to puzzle this sort of things out and . . .

"This has to do with your sister Louise, that's why you took this assignment?" The little Salamander asked softly.

"Enya-chan?" Klein asked. "Wait, you know?!" How the heck did Enya know stuff like this? Klein wondered, shouldn't all the people in a conspiracy have, like, a secret club to meet up at, or a handshake, or maybe a lapel pin, so that they didn't get into these situations?

Small nod, red hair waving faintly. "I was told by Lord Mortimer. Princess Henrietta approved it so that . . . well . . . " She shook her head. "I don't know everything, but Valliere-sensei, you're a member of the Academia, you might be given permit if the Queen thinks you could help."

"Help?" Eleanor's voice dropped. "What sort of help? No . . . let me guess . . . "

"I can't say." Enya said with a definite look of apology. "Klein-san wasn't kidding that we're not allowed to say anything. I wish it was different, but that's just the way it is."

Eleanor cast her eyes to all of them, a look like she didn't buy it, even if it was the truth. Normally, Klein would have let Kirito take the lead on this sort of thing, but given that it was hitting a little too close to home, it was up to him to step up to bat. This was a woman who was worrying about her sister after all.

"You should think about listening to Enya-chan." He advised, putting a hand on the small girl's slender shoulders. "She really knows what she's talking about. But," Klein crossed his arms, thinking out loud, "I'm a little surprised you didn't know this was a secret . . ."

"A family secret." Eleanor removed her glasses so that she could rub at her eyes unobstructed, "I didn't expect it to be a matter of the Kingdom . . . Louise . . . . what sort trouble has that girl gotten herself into now?" Another shake of the head. "I should have known there was more afoot. I don't suppose it would be too much to ask that this doesn't get back to mother and father now, would it?"

Defying her parents, Klein could relate to that.

"Is there something that the Duke and Duchess need to know about?" Kirito asked innocently. "I thought Enya-chan was just asking if she could put your name down to help on a project. We just happened to be leaving late is all. After all," the Spriggan grinned at an utterly bemused Eleanor, "It's not like we're supposed to be keeping tabs on you or anything."

"You better not be." Eleanor muttered, rubbing at her temples before waving them vaguely towards the door. "Okay, I get it . . . thanks . . . It's probably more than I should have been expecting." Her head snapped back around to Enya, the Salamander mage now consuming her full attention. "Now then, you were saying something about a recommendation . . ."

"Well, it's not going to be that simple . . ." Was the last thing Klein heard before taking the opportunity to dash for the door, he wasn't able to breathe easy until they were safely outside in the heat of the day.

"That was too close." Asuna was the first to speak, looking like she often had after a particularly close boss battle.

"I guess it's to be expected." Kirito said, distracted by his own thoughts. "Louise has a family that worries about her after all, I'm sure that . . ."

"Kirito-kun?" Asuna leaned close, he'd stopped mid-sentence, never a good sign.

"Hey, Kirito, what is it man?" Klein asked.

The Spriggan offered a rueful smile as he ran hands through his hair. "I was just thinking that we've all got family that would do the same if we disappeared, right?" And like that, the mood among the four sobered. "Yeah, I wasn't thinking, sorry."

It wasn't exactly something people wanted to talk about, the people they had left behind, that was. For once, Klein counted himself lucky for not having a girlfriend or anyone who relied on him. His mom and dad would be shaken up, but he was a grown man, and they'd survived losing him once.

Then there were kids like Kirito who weren't even out of high school. Hell, Kirito hadn't even been finished with middle school when SAO had taken him away, and then vanishing again out of the blue. At least, Klein _hoped_ that was all that had happened.

He'd had the luxury of seeing his own face in the mirror every morning. Other people didn't get to pretend they were still their old selves with pointy ears and superpowers. And with that in mind, it was hard not to wonder what was left of them back home in Japan. Had they all just vanished? A giant spiriting away?

Or had it been more of a John Carter deal, leaving behind their comatose bodies, or maybe . . . 'Maybe our corpses.' But the mood was morbid enough without saying that.

"That's why we've gotta support people like Enya-chan and the TRIST staff." Klein said instead. "We gotta keep'm safe so they have time to work and try to figure out a way for us to get home." TRIST had attracted the best and brightest of the players turned Faeries, the Doctors, Engineers, and a few advanced Physicists, or at least advance physics students, who had specialized in topics that Klein couldn't even pronounce.

Whether any of them were qualified to unravel the secrets of magic was anyone's guess, but nobody else on the Faerie side had a chance that was remotely above zero. Even Enya, a high schooler in that other world, was doing way more than Klein could have ever hoped to accomplish.

All he was good with was a sword, so he'd use it to protect people like Enya who were their best shot at getting home.

"Spoken like a real protagonist, Klein." Caramella offered up with a grin. "Man, can we please change the subject now. It's weird being with you guys when you're talking about stuff I'm not supposed to know about."

They hurried out along the packed earth that formed the surface of much of the Champ de'Mars HQ. The air outside was hot, but blessedly dry, and full of the smell of dust and sulfur residue that was accompanied by the not too distant shouts and -cracks- of soldiers drilling with their muskets.

On foot, the place was like a maze of outbuildings and barracks that had sprouted up around the three story high stone and brick HQ building, and that impression was only strengthened when taking to the sky. It reminded Klein a little of a documentary he had watched about the Roman Legions which had been known for their organized barracks and field fortifications.

It seemed that Halkegenia had maintained a little of that ancient discipline by way of its garrison forces, or maybe Lord Mortimer had already gotten his hooks sunk so deep that he was bossing people at the Headquarters now too.

Although whatever its source, a little bit of that organization had started breaking down recently. It was pretty obvious to Klein's untrained eye that the new construction, wooden barracks and armories put together by commoner carpenters, wasn't quite up to snuff with the long standing and magically crafted stone that made up the rest of the camp.

And things were definitely a lot more crowded around the HQ building since his first visit, the roads were packed, and everywhere Klein turned, there were mage officers walking about in groups or recruits being marched out for lessons and exercises.

Kirito and Asuna had a meeting with Lord Mortimer and General Eugene, something about the drills they'd been practicing the last couple of mornings. Klein's next stop was along the way, so he followed after the two, intending to break off when they passed the barracks.

It just so happened that their route took them past the edge of the HQ complex where the last of the buildings and parade squares surrendered to the expansive fields and network of berms that surrounded the Champ de'Mars training center. And it just so happened that while they were walking buy, a cloud of dust managed to work its way out from behind the berms, the product of roughly four dozen black ants. Or rather, Klein squinted, the dark specs resolving into people.

"PT?" Klein wondered out loud.

"Looks like the mage recruits." Caramella said with a distinct lack of her characteristic cheekiness.

"You can tell all the way from here?" Klein wondered, Caramella's eyes lacked the telltale glow of an activated Perception skill.

"We're two weeks into the training cycle. Commoner troops were all levied from the farms and villages, so they're already pretty fit, Carmond and the other instructors had them running in formation in less than a week. Those guys are a mess, just look at'm." The Nymph waved vaguely. "And their running gait sucks too, rookies are going to get some serious shin splints like that."

Asuna frowned. "Shouldn't the instructors correct them?"

"They probably already have." Caramella sighed. "A lot. But they have to complete the run, if they get lazy and their gait gets sloppy, the instructors can't do anything about _that_. I wouldn't worry, the pain's going to teach them pretty fast."

Maybe faster for some, Klein winced with sympathy as was particularly corpulent mage fell behind, or really, just fell, which presented a problem for the trainees trudging along behind him who suddenly had to contend with an improvised vaulting exercise.

"Seems sort of like a waste to run mages into the ground like that." Klein said out loud.

"I asked Lieutenant Gramont." Caramella answered. "He said physical conditioning helps to improve focus and willpower efficiency. I guess it's like how exercising regularly helps you to stay energized." The swordswoman worked her shoulders loosely.

"Huh." Was all Klein could think to say. "Oy, something wrong Kirito?" Klein noticed that his Spriggan best friend had stopped in his tracks to watch, in fact, he seemed to be watching one of the recruits in particular, a boy who couldn't have been much older than Kirito, sweat soaked mop of blonde hair bouncing messily as he struggled to hold his own at the middle of the pack. "You know that guy?"

Kirito sighed. "Something like that." Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the Spriggan turned to depart. "Come on, Asuna. We're already running late."

* * *

It occurred to Guiche that there was a simple word which summed up his first two weeks of military training.

That word was 'Hell'.

Though he hadn't known it when he'd arrived, the Champ de Mars was quite simply Hell.

It hadn't seemed that way at first. Arriving at the camp, the trainees had, to a man, been in good spirits to begin their training. Even Guiche had found himself joining in the mood being bunked alongside many of his fellow students, his own friends, Malicorn and Gimli, among them, taking leave from their studies at the academy in order to fulfill their family expectations, joining the army that was being raised to protect the Kingdom.

Two weeks ago, they'd been eager to begin their training, to prove themselves to Queen and Kingdom. Guiche remembered lying in bed that first night, listening to Gimli and Malicorn, despite what he knew lay ahead, their enthusiasm had been comforting. By now, much of that enthusiasm had worn off.

"Huff . . . huff . . . huff . . ." Lungs burning so bad that Guiche wanted to cry, but there was no time for that, and no breath to do it with anyways. The shouts and bellows of the instructing mage officer were frighteningly close now, close enough that Guiche could hear the gait that his horse made across the hard packed earth.

"Trainee Malicorn, you have not been permitted to stop, back on your feet!" Two weeks of physical labor and the relative privation of a military diet had not but put a small dent in the girth of the Wind Mage, face puffed up and ruddy beneath a veil of sweat as he willed himself onward. "And Trainee Gramont, that is a disgraceful showing, pick up your pace, you'll shame your father the General like this!"

"Huff . . . yes . . . huff . . . Sir!"

Guiche knew it was hopeless one way or another, there was no telling when the instructors would decide they'd had enough and blow the whistle to announce they were relieved, some day it was but an hour, others, they'd marched until the sun had been sinking on the horizon. Never was any sign given of just what swayed their tormentors' judgment.

He couldn't cry out, but Guiche found himself more than able to weep tears of pain as he ran, and he did so with shameful enthusiasm as the path beneath his feet began to rise and the pack he carried conspired to ruin him.

When Axel had first told him of the rigors of training, Guiche hadn't believed his brother that he was expected to perform the first month without magic. A magician without his magic was simply . . . well . . . a commoner. It seemed a waste. Why even bother with such a thing?

But father had appeared most agreeable about the arrangement, as had Reinhardt and Erwin when he'd asked if it was true. Father had complained of the softness of the present generation, and Erwin had observed that it was the tendency of the Nobility to train their magic from a young age while neglecting all else.

To train the mind, one had to first train the body. A mage's power was the sum of the mental reserves that they could call upon and their innate faculties, trained to shape and harness their magic.

A mage who could not maintain their focus on the edge of physical exhaustion, or whose physical condition did even in the slightest weaken their state of mind, was not a mage worth sending onto the battlefield.

Only once they proved themselves capable of that much, would they be allowed the privilege of magic.

If Guiche hadn't understood that before he and the other recruits had been given ample opportunity to have it pounded into their skulls until a permanent impression had been made. A mantra that had been imprinted on them all from the moment they had been made to surrender their foci.

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with_.' Guiche couldn't stop thinking those words.

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with._'

'A mage who is nothing without magic is nothing _with.'_

At least it gave him something to focus on save for the pain and his own ragged exhaustion, all the while, driving home that that they were all, from the highest noble son to the lowest, _nothing_ in the eyes of their magic instructors and even the commoner staff. If they'd needed any proof of that it had been on the second day when Willhelm de'Garten, third son of Count de'Garten, a powerfully built and highly accomplished duelist, had been thoroughly taken apart before their eyes in a training duel.

That his opponent had been none other than her Majesty's personal guard commander, inspecting the training grounds on the Queen's behalf, had been little consolation to the students, Agnes de Milan, not merely a commoner, but a woman at that.

The match had been meant to be contact only, but her Majesty's Knight had seen no need to hold back after de'Garten had attempted to stave her head in with his training sword. Brutal and efficient, the hallmarks of a de'Garten and a bully. The end result had been one mage clutching his fractured wrist and one commoner standing over him with murderous intent in her eyes as she slammed the tip of her training sword into the hard packed earth at her feet.

The trainees had been shocked into silence, all except Guiche who had known better than to be the least bit surprised by the outcome. A mage was not physically superior to a commoner after all, and de'Garten was still a boy fighting a fully grown and superbly trained woman, a woman who happened to show far more accomplishment with the sword than any idle fencer at the academy.

It was very much a temperament that Guiche had grown familiar with while traveling with Midori and he had suspected the way that the match would go as soon as the two participants had taken the field.

de'Garten's curses had echoed as he was taken to the infirmary to have his bones reset and flesh knitted back into its proper shape, but not before he was able to launch a final threat.

They boy had screamed like a banshee that he would have the Chevalier's head for daring to so much as lay a finger on his person, Dame Agnes had merely taken the threat in stride, not even blinking as she reminded calmly that the third son of a Count was beneath the rank of one of her Majesty's personal agents and that he should be thankful she was not demanding recompense for him threatening her life.

When the mage instructors had sided with Dame Agnes, that had been when de Garten had truly lost it.

_That_ had been an unwelcome surprise to more than a few of the trainees, expecting to be able to boss around and make demands of the commoners who had always been beneath them before. Certainly a commoner sergeant might _outrank _them, but the commoners would still know their place, the military was an institution where propriety mattered, after all. Malicorn had all but cried when the musketeers had begun ordering him around and the mage instructors had commanded he obey.

Guiche had been better off than most, _he_ at least knew a modicum of field craft, how to get by without needing a spell for every last thing, and years of his father and brothers' expectations had shaped him into fair physical condition, albeit far from what was demanded of him now.

Perhaps then, the surprise had been seeing just how much better suited still the commoners were to this same sort of grueling activity. The commoner recruits, volunteers, mercenaries, and troop levies summoned from across Tristain, arriving here to train as foot soldiers and cannoneers.

Without their magic, the mage trainees were little better than commoners and their instructors had deemed to treat them as commoners all the same in their physical exercises. It was an opportunity to measure themselves against the lesser classes, and find themselves wanting.

Every day thus far, the mage trainees had known only the sight of dust kicked up by the musketeers and pikemen that began ahead of them and never fell out of step or dropped behind. So relentless in fact that Gimli and Malicorn insisted the instructors must have been doing something to enhance the commoners as part of this 'humiliating exercise'.

Guiche knew better, boys and men who had spent their lives working the fields and tending to animals, physical labor from sunrise to sunset, they needed only the discipline to march and fight in formation.

It was even more impressive when Guiche considered that, when the mage trainees broke for classes, the commoners simply continued with their physical drill, trading forced marches and field training for team exercises, musket drills, and melee sparring. Not that he was in any condition to appreciate the marvelous feat of physical endurance on this, their third lap of the Headquarters.

He did find the strength, however, to lift his head high enough that he could make out a dark silhouette standing at the edge of the barracks. Sweat stinging his eyes, reducing the shape to a blur, for a heartbeat he thought 'Midori?', but then he blinked and pale skin became like ash and long hair resolved into the collar of black jacket.

Guiche grimaced, of course, he had hoped for too much. Not the Swordswoman and Agent of the Crown, but simply that crow Kirito, the mercenary who had captured the attention of Queen Henrietta and ingratiated himself so well as to be made a Knight for slaying the traitor Wardes. Guiche was not one to argue with the decisions of his much beloved Queen, nose wrinkling in distaste, but surely there were Faeries who would have been more suitable for an elevation of status, even if he was the husband of a swan as pure and noble as Dame Asuna.

And all the while, the efforts of agents such as Miss Midori went unrecognized. Needs to keep it that way or not, it was hardly fair. Surely a just reward need not draw the public's eye or the ire of the Nobility. If Faeries and Protestants were being elevated to the status of Knighthood for their service to the Crown, than surely even a bastard daughter could be honored with that station.

But as far as Guiche knew, it had not happened, perhaps even because Miss Midori did not want it to happen . . .

"Trainee Gramont!" The instructor roared down from atop his horse. In a moment of distraction, Guiche had neither seen nor heard his approach.

"Huff . . . Sir!"

The slim, pinch-faced man gave Guiche a look like he was something he wanted to scrap from his shoe. "Trainee Gramont, what is the proper order for musket volley?!"

"Huff . . . Sir! . . . It's . . ." It was at that moment that Guiche froze, a deeply nauseous feeling striking his stomach at the most inopportune moment, for, try as he might . . .

"Trainee Gramont!"

"Huff . . ." He couldn't recall . . .

The instructor shrugged, spurring his hoarse onwards. "Third Platoon, continue your march, you have Trainee Gramont to thank today . . ."

The day before, it had been Malicorn, and the day before that, it had been a boy named Eli, son of a petty mage hailing from the Capital. Even so, Guiche doubted that shared fault would make them any more forgiving. It was a sensation that solidified itself into an almost physical ball of unease that started deep within his stomach before rising, bubbling up through his chest, nearly strangling him as he . . .

"Huff . . . huff . . . hurrrrrkkkkk . . ."

Perhaps . . . perhaps he shouldn't have dared to have sausages that morning.


	21. Chapter 5 Part 1 : Kingston on Hull

Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 5 – Part 1

Kingston on Hull was a city under martial law.

It was no more than a few days since the incident beneath the cliffs, a black powder carrying merchantman blown to pieces by her own cargo, producing a thunderclap so loud that it had shaken the city and left the populace on the verge of panic until sunrise, fearing that they had come under attack. The people had heard about the battle of York months ago, and the stories had only grown with time.

The Faeries were attacking. This had been a feint. Or a failed attempt. It was the beginning of some new strategy. No ship was safe. And the port itself might be destroyed in an instant!

There had been demands to the government of Lord Cromwell, cries from the masses for protection, and calls from the merchants and nobility, whose wealth depended on the port, and which financed the ambitions of the new master of Albion, to guard their interests.

Lord Cromwell and his military advisers had heard the pleas of Kingston, and they had amply obliged. The Dragon Knight Squadrons had been re-positioned, patrols had been re-prioritized and the customs cordon had been extended out over the ocean. Now, all ships approaching the port were to be thoroughly searched before docking. It would not deter the smugglers who knew ways to circumvent the Navy's best efforts, but it would do to keep anymore flying bombs from wreaking havoc.

That had done to satisfy the concerns of the powerful, the Landholders and the Merchants, it did not satisfy the Army whose leaders had decided the measures taken to prevent seditious activity in a vital trading city had been entirely inadequate up to this time. Now that their concerns had been born out, they could attack the matter with some 'real teeth' as it were.

'Really, they're just trying to cover their asses.' Sir Richard Holland thought as he surveyed the streets from high up atop the saddle of his perched fire dragon, the powerful brute of a drake shifting back and forth beneath him but otherwise tolerant enough of his rider.

"Is he any better today than last?" Sitting opposite of Holland and his mount atop his own dragon, Ensign Blair Trayvor called over to him with a look of mild amusement coloring his features.

The two of them had been placed guarding the archway gates that separated the port district from the rest of the city, sitting up on the high stone wall, like a pair of squatting gargoyles. Coupled with their vantage from their saddles, it gave a fair view of the city, and the traffic currently backed up quite a ways. By official order, three of the four gates servicing the port had been closed, leaving only this one open to travel, all comings and goings monitored by the city garrison.

That left the Knights on watch with little to do save remain alert and observant until they were needed.

"I can't really claim to know, one way or the other." Holland patted his dragon's neck with the same firm motion that Blair had shown him. "But we're so retched together I should think I would notice even a slight bettering of his mood."

"Aye, he's got it in his head how you are now, you're going to have to prove him wrong for a while before he'll give you the benefit of the doubt." Blair offered up, scratching his smaller and decidedly more at ease drake along his flank. "You're in luck. Fire Dragons will forgive you if you stick with them. A Wind Dragon won't forget a slight."

Was that so? Holland wondered. "Guess I should be thankful you're an easy going sort," he tried to say in the same soothing tone of voice as Blair, "Huh boy?"

Horus' head swayed from side to side, the dragon giving a small huff.

"I'd say that's a good start." Blair grinned. "Just got to keep'm relaxed, Horus'll know how to handle himself when magic and shot is flying, it's when his rider gets anxious that he doesn't know himself, aye?"

"Aye." Holland answered before turning his attention back to the streets.

"Sure is a lot of people." Blair muttered under his breath. "Never seen so many before."

"You mean Kingston?" If memory served it was just a hair under one hundred thousand souls, all told.

"Aye, I've never spent so much time in a place like this in all my life. My mother raised me in the country, on the Western cliffs."

"Your mother?" Holland asked. "So I suppose your father . . ."

"He passed not long after I was born." Blair said without much emotion, either good or bad, coloring his voice.

"Ah." Holland leaned back in his saddle. "You have my condolences for your loss."

Blair shrugged, a motion that came with the ease and indifference of practice. "I don't need condolences over a man I never knew." Blair stopped, as if he was finished speaking before blowing a breath. "Just know that mum loved him, thought the world of him. It's a shame for her he isn't still around."

It occurred to Holland that he might have made a dreadful mess of things by touching on the subject. Years of being tied to Meinhardt had left him little choice but to dig his way out of such gaffs when they occurred. The best retreat, in his experience was a sharp change of subject.

"I suppose for someone born in the western provinces it would be a bit overwhelming." Holland nodded to the crowds. Beneath them, a merchant had just gotten down from his cart and was presently locking horns with the garrison Lieutenant on watch. It looked to be well in hand, Holland appraised, the usual bickering over the delays and inconvenience, and if not, that would be their signal to step in.

Blair rolled his eyes and gave a sharp laugh. "I'm supposing this is where you start calling me a poor, back woods provincial."

So, not the answer he had been expecting.

"Not at all!" Holland waved his hands quickly. Beneath him, Horus gave another agitated huff and needed to be settled down again before he went on. "I was merely saying that it is a change. And this is nothing to the likes of the Capital."

Londinium was five _times_ the size of Kingston, and when the outlying towns and cities that serviced it were counted up, the region was by far the most populous in all of Albion, nearly a _million_ people all told. He had been speaking only the truth.

"It's easy to forget that not everyone has spent time in the cities."

The fire of Blair's temper sated, for now, the Dragoon settled back in his saddle. "I'm not, you know . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Some backwoods know nothing, I'm not. Mum taught me everything she could, and I learned everything she couldn't by myself." Blair shrugged again. "I've gotten pretty good at it, teaching myself, or finding someone who can teach me."

"Is that how you learned about dragons?" Holland asked, the rather romantic notion of a young lad like Blair learning his trade as a stable hand coming unbidden to mind, perhaps he'd spent too much time reading mother's novels as a boy.

"Aye." Blair nodded. "Something like that."

"Well then, Ensign, I meant no offense, only that you should enjoy the newness and perhaps once our watch has ended we can have a look around before returning to barracks."

Blair perked up visibly at that. Lock down or no, Kingston was a port city, the war and blockades had damped that, but the city was still alive and as such still a place where entertainment and novelties could be found.

"I'll have to grab Meinhardt though, I think he knows the city." Blair scowled. "Of course," Holland confessed, "Asking Meinhardt will probably just end with us spending the night in a brothel."

"Ah . . . No thanks to that . . ." Blair shook his head quickly. "I mean, I don't need to get on any worse with the Lieutenant than I'm going on now."

"Too true Ensign." Speaking of the devil as he should appear on the wall beside them.

"Sir!" Both Knights gave salutes from their saddles.

Lieutenant Sir William Wells waved for them to be at ease. "How goes the watch, Sir Holland, Ensign Blair?"

"No signs of a trouble, Sir." Holland reported.

"Quiet as the grave, Sir." Blair agreed, and thought something of an exaggeration, it was not far from the truth to say that there hadn't been any notable disturbances the whole watch. Holland had heard mention of an incident the day before, a half dozen smugglers rounded up to be dragged off to the garrison HQ, but little else since then.

"Good." Sir Wells nodded. "I'd prefer that it would stay that way, but I'd ask that you keep at highest alert all the same."

"Of course, Sir." Holland frowned. "Sir?" The Lieutenant looked ill at ease, giving them not long to guess before waving them both down from their saddles.

Giving Horus another pat on the neck, Holland unclipped his harness to drop down to the paved roadway that ran along the top of the district wall, Blair following suit a moment later with far more personal grace than Holland had managed in his own dismount.

"Is there a problem," Holland looked every which way for eavesdroppers, "Sir?"

"That depends Ensign." Sir Wells said carefully, only the barest hint of weariness entering his voice. The Squadron Leader had been run ragged these past days in attempting to placate the local land holders who had called on the Dragon Knight's for help in securing their city. "I've just been released from a meeting held with the garrison commander. The flotsam retrieved by the Navy has been examined."

Dragoon and Knight remained silent as Sir Wells rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "One of the Frigate captains performed a sky dive to follow the wreckage down to the sea, else it would have all sunk or been picked to pieces by the Dragon Sharks. The debris showed burns and splintering consistent with a powder explosion. The _Brimir's Bounty _was blasted apart by her own cargo._"_

"Aye, begging your pardon, that doesn't sound like any sort of news, Sir." Blair shifted from side to side impatiently.

"No." Sir Wells agreed. "That is exactly what we were expecting. I'd be more suspicious if there was anything but matchsticks left of the ship. While sifting the wreckage, the Navy found a survivor, that is to say, one of the sailors off of their patrol cutters. Two were destroyed in the detonation."

The patrol ships? Holland shared a looked with Blair who looked no more convinced.

"A ship's officer then?" The junior Knight wondered. He'd have to be a mage to survive falling a league and a half into the ocean.

"A commoner airman." Wells corrected. "He may have been stationed on the ship's far side when the blast hit them. It would seem that the keel cap and masts off one of the cutters held together long enough to slow the fall of the forward section. The man still broke half the bones in his body when the wreckage hit the water, and nearly drowned before he was pulled from the sea."

"Sounds like a miracle of the Founder he lived then." Blair whispered softly, crossing himself like a proper member of the faithful.

"If the Founder bothers himself to look out for any of us in these times." The elder Knight said less sincerely and more as a matter of form, but Holland knew better than to question his superior's propriety. "By order of the garrison captain, he was given the greatest care to be kept alive so that he might be questioned."

"Why we were not told of this before now?" Holland wanted to know.

"In hopes that it wouldn't lead to speculation and panic no doubt." Sir Wells supplied as though he didn't believe it himself. "I am not privy to the garrison captain's thoughts. In any case, the airman woke not long ago, if only for a brief time. He was lucid." Sir Wells cast his gaze across the city. "He said that right before his ship went down . . . he saw fireflies racing for the cliffs."

Holland felt his stomach wrench.

"Sir? Fireflies?" Blair looked unmistakably bemused. "There aren't such a thing on the White Cliffs, gets too cold for the wee glow bottoms . . . or . . . oh . . ." He got it now too, expression turning sober.

Blair was quite right, fireflies were a rare sight on the White Isle, occasionally spotted in the forests of Saxe Gotha, and never along the cliffs, but seen from a distance, there was something that they could be mistaken for, Holland knew quite well.

Faeries. And as simple as that, their suspicions were confirmed.

"There's hoping that the man took a touch to the head and is remembering wrong, but our fortunes haven't favored that sort of thinking." The Lieutenant said.

"Sir, this isn't well known yet, is it?" Holland shook his head, of course not. Their Squadron Leader wouldn't be telling them personally if it had been issued as a General Address.

"The garrison won't be informed until the captain has had a chance to brief all of his Lieutenants. I'm merely taking liberties to make sure that my own subordinates know what to expect." Sir Wells gave both dragon riders a hard look. "I _trust_ that you understand that this is confidential until such a time that it is made public."

"Sir!" Both saluted sharply. "As you command, Sir!"

"Good." Sir Wells nodded. "Good. I expect we will be receiving reinforcements from Londinium in the coming days. In the meantime, stay on your guard, both of you. Now, back to your posts."

"Sir!"

Sir Wells had made off quickly, down the line to where the next pair of dragons roosted and the next after that. He mustn't have been exaggerating when he said the information was confidential. So confidential in fact, that Holland wondered if he wanted anything at all to do with it.

Faeries. Holland swallowed. He could hope at least that the airman had been mistaken. Casting his eyes to Blair, all too eagerly mounting his drake, he couldn't help but think that this was an ill omen.

"Aye?" Blair grinned with the mischief of a child. "Eyes on the streets, right? Can't let any of the pointy eared sort slip us by!"

"I don't . . ." No, Holland merely smiled wanly, the boy had an eagerness he'd shared when he'd first joined the training cadres. Blair would learn temperance from his seniors, as Holland and Meinhardt had, well, as Holland had.

Climbing back into the saddle, he counted himself lucky that the rest of their watch went off without incident save for a few times that they had been called to add weight to the instructors of the garrison troops. Holland was no imposing figure himself, and Blair was an even more slightly built young lad, but five tons of fire breathing lizard tended to forgive their frailties.

It had not felt like long at all before Sir Saxton and Sir Whetherby had arrived to relieve them, both Knights giving solemn nods. A brief exchange with Sir Saxton as they passed atop their drakes had confirmed that the rest of the Squadron had also heard the news. Good, at least they wouldn't be caught by surprise, he hoped.

They had known this was a possibility. It was the very possibility for which they had been re-positioned to guard against, in point of fact.

If it had been Faeries, then they must have detonated the ship to cover their flight for the cliffs, maybe they had intended to light the cargo once the ships reached port, but the patrol cutters had spooked them into running. And if they'd escaped sight by anyone else, then surely there couldn't have been more than a handful.

But how _many_ could a handful be, he wondered, recalling _her_ once more, wings racked, chasing him through the skies, and to what purpose had they arrived?

None that could be good, Holland was sure. He was just as sure after walking Horus back to the stable and settling him in for the night, and likewise when he and Blair managed to make it to the inn that had become makeshift living accommodations for half of the Fourth Squadron, shared with travelers and merchants arriving or departing by the ships in the port.

Faeries . . .

Ludicrous it seemed to Holland, but people had an amazing power to remember the smallest details, the smaller the better, like the whirl of her long hair and the glint of her brilliant eyes . . .

Which was perhaps why he found himself being nudged in the shoulder once again by an amused looking Meinhardt. "Thinking of a girl I should hope!" The Dragon Knight asked with a devilishly irksome smirk which slowly widened as Holland's first instinct was to blanch. "Ah, so it _was_ a girl."

"Nothing of the sort!" Holland declared loudly, turning his attention back to his plate, currently half occupied by a roll of bread and an indescribable, brownish, meat . . . something . . . No doubt a fine example of local cuisine . . . No doubt. He poked furiously at his plate in hopes that it would dissuade Meinhardt. Of course, it didn't.

"Nothing to be ashamed of Sir Holland, these things happen as one grows into a man." Meinhardt said jovially as he polished off the last of the brownish, well, Holland supposed that it was gravy, with the remaining half of a roll, leaning back in his chair.

"That is not what I was thinking." Holland said quietly. "Nothing at all like it as a matter of fact. "It's merely the, well, the You, Know, What," emphasizing each word with a rise and fall of his eyebrows, "that the Lieutenant mentioned." certainly no need to raise any alarm by voicing such things out loud.

"Mmph . . . oo-mean da Faeriezz?" Meinhardt looked on as Holland waved his hands and hissed a curse under his breath.

"Shhh!" Holland hissed, casting glanced all around, who knew who might be listening. "Do you want another reprimand?"

Taking time to swallow, the half-Germanian put his elbows on the table. "Relax a little, whether there are or aren't, the people around here have already decided for themselves that the explosion was no accident."

"They have?" Holland was left at a loss. He shook his head, what people speculated was none of his concern, "That hardly makes a difference!"

"Well, you're right about that." Meinhardt agreed, leaning back in his chair as he picked at a tooth. "Command decided we were going to act as if it was them from the start, better safe than sorry I suppose, still, nice to know all of our work isn't going to waste."

"And you think it'll be fine, just like that?" Holland wished he could share in his friend's confidence. "If it is," Holland took a look around the dining hall before leaning in closer so that his voice would be masked by the noise, "_Them_ . . . We'll have a problem on our hands."

That's how it seemed from where he stood, so why didn't Meinhardt see it?

"It is what it is." Meinhardt said, voice and expression hardening as he became all about the business of his craft. "They're dangerous, not invincible. You and I survived them at Newcastle, remember that." By luck more than skill, Holland was quite sure, at least on his own behalf, but Meinhardt had always made his own luck it seemed.

Something else caught his eye, a head moving through the crowded room, searching for an empty seat where none was to be had. Blair stood at the middle of the room, looking very much like a lost child. Thinking hardly at all about it, Holland raised a welcoming hand, reminding Meinhardt to be nice.

"Why Richard!" Meinhardt threw back another laugh as he took up his tankard and drank down the contents by a third. "I've never been anything less than my charming self!"

"Which was exactly the problem." Holland was willing to bet as he turned his attention back to a reproachful Blair.

"Sir Meinhardt." The Dragoon greeted.

"Ensign Trayvor." Meinhardt shot back with a smile.

There was an almost tangible enmity between the two cavalrymen, made all the more ludicrous by the fact that it was utterly one sided. Meinhardt couldn't have been less able to hold a grudge, and the scathing glares seemed to simply bounce off him with about as much effect as a bout of flatulence in a cyclone. This would only anger the young dragoon more as Meinhardt remained willfully oblivious.

"Don't mind him." Holland insisted. "He's made an art out of being insufferable. Besides, you look like you could use a place to sit." Holland pulled out the remaining chair as a peace offering, one that he was thankful to see the slight Dragoon accept with a modicum of dignity, and an absence of violent outburst, laying out his plate of the same indescribable meat basted in gravy.

"So, what's with that look?" Blair asked as he sawed into the tough, rubbery slice of meat.

"Pardon?" Holland asked.

"That look. I'd say you've been sucking on a lemon, been that way since this afternoon. Course, could just be the company . . ."

"No need to be like that my boy." Meinhardt rested his head in his hand. "I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly. And as for Holland, he's been soured by mention of our pointy eared friends."

"Aye?" Blair gave him a look over. "Is that the case? I don't see what's to be worried about. They're nasty a-course but they ran at Newcastle and they ran at York, doesn't sound like unstoppable firstborns to me."

"See!" Meinhardt boasted loudly, loud enough to draw eyes from the nearest table. "_Blair_ here gets it."

Two men cut from the same cloth, Holland pondered, and all the while leaving him to be quite at the disadvantage. It was a wonder that they _didn't _get along.

"It's unexpected, out of nowhere is all." Holland muttered. "We had the Royalists to rights. The Tyrant King is dead and the last of the Tudor's have fled Albion. And just when we're to have our victory, Faeries appear from nowhere at just such a time and just such a place. How do you not wander what fate we're tempting?"

Meinhardt eased off on his ribbing, swirling the tankard he held in his right hand while tapping out a rhythm on the table with his left as he thought. "Don't see how it changes a thing." The Germanian said. "Rebellion is a messy thing at the best of times, we were lucky to have favor on our side. If you want to say it's fate, then the Faeries are probably our penance for a short and victorious war. Founder knows how things could have gone differently. You should know that better than anyone, Sir Holland,Knight of Adeline."

"Hmm?" Blair stopped his fruitless effort at mastication, putting his cutlery down. "Sounds like there's a story to that if I do say so."

"Only that Holland here," Meinhardt waved vaguely in his direction, "And the rest of his family, happen to have a history as retainers to the Baron of Adeline. I shouldn't need to tell you why _they _have more reason than most to dislike the Tudors, the living ones anyways."

Holland fixed Meinhardt with an intense frown.

Blair was silent for a moment as this detail sank in. "The Baron of Adeline . . . then . . ."

"Our Fair Lady was Princess Mary Adeline, wife of Prince Lionel of the House of Tudor." Holland confirmed. "Beheaded on order of the Tyrant King for death of the Second Prince." At least, that was how the Tudors had told it. Really, it had been nothing but a beast of a man assuaging his blood lust.

Without remorse, without even trial, the crime had been placed wholly on the shoulders of a quiet, soft spoken woman who had never so much as harmed a hair on a babe's head much less been capable of murdering her own husband. Holland had only known her distantly as a member of the Baron's family, the few times their paths had crossed she had been kind to him. From what little he had gathered, the Princess had loved her husband truly and deeply, and had counted herself blessed to be had by him.

"I heard they executed the Princess' guards before her." Blair said in a hushed, almost conspiratorial voice, a boy who didn't really understand the whole miserable affair. "They were accused of trying to cover her crime."

That had been the reason they'd been put to death, or at least, the reason given, with no more evidence than what had been leveled against their charge.

"Relations of yours?" Blair leaned elbows on the table.

"One of them was my uncle, my mother's brother, the other was a second uncle on my father's side." Holland said. "It would have been the greatest disgrace in our family's history if one iota of it were true."

But it wasn't true, it couldn't be, and even if it was, King James had disgraced himself first by demanding swift judgment and execution. The Baron had still been in the midst of pleading for his daughter's life when he had heard that her head had been hoisted up above the Tower of Londinium.

That had been the final wrong, the breaking point that had opened the floodgates of revolution and changed the Baron of Adeline from one of the King's strongest supporters into one of his greatest enemies. Revenge had taken root and there had been no stopping it.

There had only been one thing for it, to join with the only figure in Albion that had been standing in open rebellion against the King. Lord Cromwell had been outspoken in his regrets for the death of the Prince and Princess, the last voices of reason in a decadent Royal Line which had fallen to cruelty and corruption.

And where the Baron of Adeline went, his retainers had loyally followed.

The Baron had been the first Nobleman of real significance to change his allegiance, but he had not been the last to join Lord Cromwell's cause. Opportunists, true believes, pragmatists, and those who wanted to right their own wrong, all had been welcome. With each Noble and military Officer who had stood in open rebellion and pledged their aid to the cause, another had been convinced to do so in turn.

Carefully arranged alliances and balances of power, rotten from decades of abuse, had finally begun to come apart, first slowly, and then with gathering speed. That had been the real start of the rebellion that had grown into full revolution by the time the leading forces of the Holy Army of the Reconquistadors had reached Londinium, growing in strength with every town and city that traded sides.

Meinhardt had been right, they were lucky that their revolution had garnered support. It had made the hard fought battles in the North no less brutal, but more palatable as the Royalists had swiftly exhausted their remaining manpower and resources while the forces of Lord Cromwell had continued to enjoy considerable reserves.

"That's enough of that then." Holland found himself in a singularly ill mood. "It's a fair better reason to fight than most. Was it not your family that only traded sides when Admiral Blake ordered the Navy to stand down?"

"Only because he did not order the Navy to Lord Cromwell's aid!" Meinhardt declared. "The Tudors were strangling half the southern families in favor of their close allies, a fat lot of good it did them in the end."

"So what you're saying is that you fought to stay out of the poor house." Holland mused. "Said like a true merchant."

"Commoner and noble alike, everyone needs to eat, and everyone has something to trade for their daily bread." Meinhardt pointed out. "I take pride in my merchant's blood."

"Sounds more like mercenary's blood to me." Blair said.

"There's really little difference." Meinhardt agreed. "Proof of what my father always said, that merchants truly are warriors at heart."

"And what about you?" Holland gave Blair a look.

"What about me?"

"A Dragoon from the auxiliaries. That's not where I'd expect to find someone planning to join the Knights. You must have some reason for picking sides in this war."

For Holland it was family honor, for Meinhard it was pragmatism. Apathy could be a cause, but if Blair aimed to earn a living out of this war he'd be better served joining a free company. "Why the Dragon Knights?"

If the question struck some private chord, it did not show as Blair assumed a contemplative pose. "Aye. I have my reasons, and they'd be none of your business. Why I flagge under Lord Cromwell . . . I'd say it's because he must have a point what with the whole country behind him."

There was that, Holland thought, head bobbing up to sweep the dining hall once more. Inside, in the light and warmth, it was hard to think about the prospect of war, but it would come again soon enough.


	22. Chapter 5 Part 2: Infiltration

Author Note: Sorry for the slow updates, I've been working on a very long scene for a later chapter.

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Halkegenia Online v3.0 – Chapter 5 – Part 2

Kingston on Hull was an old city. It was an old city built on a old city. An old city, built on an old city, which had in turn grown up around an even older castle, which had once been nothing more than a trading outpost so far in the distant past that nobody could even be bothered to remember what it had been called.

The castle was gone now, replaced long ago by the harbor tree that had sprouted up and slowly, over the intervening thousands of years, displaced the old keep until not even a foundation remained. A more modern fort of brick and mage crafted stone had been built into the cliffs as the most recent in a long line of replacements, looking out on the sea of clouds, a monolith bristling with cannons and births for patrol cutters and gunboats, a symbol of advanced military power declaring the wealth and importance of the city.

The names and histories of the old cities were gone now too, forgotten over the ages, but their memory still lived on in the cityscape, in the walls that cut concentrically through city districts like the growth rings of a stone tree, reflecting consecutive ages of conflict and prosperity through Kingston's long and storied history.

Three walls, each one larger and more elaborate than the last, each built in its day to hold back the besieging armies of the time, growing from the tall, relatively thin and monolithic inner walls of mage crafted stone, to the more segmented and sloped middle wall with its many protruding watchtowers and bastions, and the outer wall, less a barricade, and more a feature of the landscape, low and thick, backed by earth and brick housings for cannons and mage weapons, and jutting out in a jagged jig saw pattern like spear tips built to repel giants.

The times had changed, but the walls had remained, in fact, they had been restored and beautified more than once by Kingston's rulers. Where in other cities and towns, the old fortifications would have long since been picked apart for building materials, the Nobility of Kingston had gained a unique appreciation for their old walls and the unintended service they provided by keeping people where they _belonged_.

Effort had been spent over the years making sure that they continued to be very good at doing just that. Inner walls had been added to sub divide the city and channel the traffic coming and going from the port district. Blockhouses had been erected at the gates, manned around the clock by well equipped and trained guards.

The flow of traffic was carefully controlled and directed so that, when the explosion of the _Brimir's_ _Bounty_ had reminded Kingston's rulers what it was like to live in fear, they needed only to clamp down that much tighter to put their city into a state of near lock-down. The soldiers sent to their aid by Lord Cromwell's decree had just made it easier.

Not that it was going to matter one way or another. More like it was going to lull them into a false sense of security. After all, they could only guess about what might be coming. And whatever they'd guess, they'd be wrong, more or less.

"Next!"

A grizzled guard sergeant, salt and pepper in his beard and coat in the colors of the local nobility, waved his men away from a pair of wagons. The guards had conducted a swift search, and finding nothing but the cargo of flour that had been identified in their manifests, the wagons had been permitted to proceed through the checkpoint.

Nodding as if satisfied, the sergeant turned back to the waiting line, one of four that fed through just this gate alone.

Security had been placed at a heightened state and would remain that way until the order was given to stand down, but the inhabitants of Kingston still needed to eat, and the flow of goods and labor still had to travel both ways unimpeded. It was a weakness in the cities otherwise impenetrable defenses, exploited by all sorts of undesirables, smugglers, and fugitives.

City guards stood at attention flanking the gateway, soldiers paced the walls above, and as if that wasn't enough, a pair of dragons cast their shadows down from on high, observing with glassy, reptilian eyes while their riders swept the cues for signs of trouble. Everything about the set up screamed that security was on alert and on its game.

"Alright, you. Time to go now." The sergeant came upon the next in line a hooded and hunched man in the company of two others, a man and a woman. "Travel papers."

"I have them, Sir." The younger man, big and barrel chested, with a thick red beard kept well groomed, stepped up, offering a sheet that had been marked off with a long list of matching blue and red stamps.

The Sergeant squinted as he scanned down the line. "All the way from Westridge this says. You've traveled a wee bit of a ways, lad, you and your . . ."

"Father, Sir, and my wife." The man supplied helpfully and a little too quickly, as if being slow had cost him in the past. "It wasn't by choice mind you, Sir, but I heard news of work this ways." A trio of the soldiers had stepped, pulling open the cloaks of the woman and the elder man to search for contraband. "I'm a carpenter, Sir, looking for a steady wage. It was either here or Londinium."

The Sergeant nodded absently as he softly spoke the names of the cities and towns that they had been through to arrive at Kingston. "Very good then, all the stamps are official, this checks out." Removing a stamp from a pouch hung from his belt, the Sergeant pressed down firmly on the bottom of the paper and held the stamp in place to a count of three.

"This stamp is an alchemic marker, the ink will fade over the course of one day. You must return here or to the port district gate if you wish to have it renewed." The Sergeant fixed the man with a steady, serious look. "Keep your papers with you at all times, do not allow the stamp to fade completely so long as you are seeking work within the walls of the city. Doing so will have dire consequences. If you find steady employment, your employer can furnish you with a permanent mark of residence. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." The carpenter said quickly. "Thank you Sir!"

"Move along then." The Sergeant waved. "Next!"

"See, Elga, I told you we'd make it just fine." The carpenter whispered to his wife as they set off. "Those rumors about bandits along the roads were just exaggeration you see. The Army would never allow them to operate so brazenly . . ."

"Aye, papers out." The sergeant looked to the next group in line and was given pause, eyes narrowing suspiciously, another trio wrapped in heavy travel cloaks.

For a commoner to be trusted commanding the gate watch, he would have to be as experienced as his age suggested. That experience came with a certain instinct for the out of place, acquired by years of surviving by luck and skill.

Maybe it was the way that they moved, never quite perfectly still, shifting from foot to foot impatiently despite having waited in line for hours to get this far. Or the way that they looked off constantly in different directions, but never glanced the same way. Or maybe it was the fact that their cloaks were hung in just such a way as to shroud anything more than a pale hint of chin or a flash of light reflected in eyes.

The instant he leveled a look upon them, all three fell still as death.

"Are ya deaf, lads?"

The sergeant grunted as he took hold of the cloak of the first, the slight frame underneath going stiff as he pulled the weather covering back to look upon a girl no more than perhaps twelve of age, black, curly hair hanging loosely in ringlets over high, pale forehead and drawn back into pigtails behind her ears, big, emerald green eyes gone wide with innocent alarm.

"Here . . . Sir, my humble apologies for my clumsiness." A voice carrying a very faint hint of odd accent, Romalian, or maybe Gallian influenced, and very feminine on top of that. The second traveler stepped forward, hand held tightly to a travel document.

Sparring a glance, the sergeant took the proffered piece of paper without ever looking away as the hood was drawn back on the features of lovely young peasant girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, old enough for the first signs of womanhood to be apparent in the features of her heart shaped face. Long black hair had been pulled back and braided with a simple length of cord that hung over her left shoulder. Despite the gap of years, the family resemblance between the two girls was clear enough.

"This is what's required, is it not?" The girl's whispered reply was delivered all the while her green eyes were cast to the ground at her feet. "We were told to keep it safe with us at all times.

The Sergeant nodded slowly before turning his attention to the travel papers, catching the older girl looking up from the corner of his eye.

The document told of a relatively short journey along provincial roads by way of market towns and villages, each destination marked by receiving a red stamp before setting out and a blue one upon arrival, the final departure stamp was from the village Canterbur and reaffirmed Kingston as the trio's final destination alongside a green stamp that had been placed when the document had been issued.

The stamps all checked out, the ink was good when he dusted his thumb with alchemic powder and rubbed it against each of the seals. That left simply the the travel orders.

"This says you're here for work? You're families have sent you? Hardly fitting for girls to travel alone."

"Things as they are, we've little choice but to seek work in the city, Sir." The elder sister answered and waved to the last of her party, pulling back his cloak now. "And we'd hardly be traveling alone at a time like this, our brother is with us."

Pale skin, black hair, and bright, green eyes, marked the boy as a relation to the girls, but that was where the resemblance broke down.

A hard featured youth who could not be more than a year or two older than the elder girl, but who lent himself to being older still. Anything in him that could be called delicate was only that way in so much as being fine, with sharp cheekbones and chin, and raven's black hair that hung like a mop.

His cloak, opened by the guard searching him, revealed a lean frame under rough traveling clothes, a youth accustomed in his short time to long days of hard labor. Hanging loosely from his belt was a simple leather scabbard, the hilt of a cheap commoner's sword protruding.

The sergeant gave the youth a hard look, the boy looked back, emerald eyes almost repellantly cold and bitter, not at all what he would have expected in such a young face less than a year ago, but not uncommon War had been quick as such things went, but no less unkind.

"Looking for work too I suspect." The sergeant sighed, and gave the three a look that might almost have been pitying.

"If there's any I'm suited for." The boy rasped and nodded his head towards the guards. "Not afraid of hard work."

The guards snorted. That was what they all said. "This shows that you left Canterbur three days ago? That's barely a day and a half's travel."

The youngest sibling tried to hold back a dainty cough, but failed to do more than cover her mouth.

"She sickened on the road, and we had to stop for her to rest." The older sister explained.

"Sister says we can get medicine here." The younger girl agreed in a small, sweet voice, eyes showing a measure of hope.

And that, where others measures failed, crept through the old sergeant's heart. Maybe he was softer than he looked, of maybe he had children of his own which demanded his sympathy. Nodding slowy. "Aye, the city has its share of healers, some will even see to a commoner's health."

"You hear that?" The brother asked softly.

"I told you it was true." The older sister put her arms around their youngest sibling.

"This all checks out." The sergeant declared, handing the paper back to the older girl after placing a day stamp in its lower right corner. "You've got one day before this stamp begins to fade, it must be replaced daily and the document must remain with your persons at all times until you depart the city or find employ." As hands closed on the paper, the sergeant pulled back, nearly withdrawing the document from her grasp.

"There is just one more thing." All three grew tense at once, a trio of riled cats by the looks of them. "Merely a word of advice that if you're looking for work, there's no good kind for girl's like you in the port district, stick to the commoner quarters and shops." The trio blinked almost in unison, the old sergeant shaking his head with mirth, the similarity of siblings seemed to carry down the generations. "And keep to main streets if you're out at night in the commoner quarters, the walls keep the undesirable sorts penned up, but that just keeps them restless, light on the busy streets will scare'm away, sure enough."

"Oh?" Green eyes appeared mystified, and then, "Oh. Th-thank you for your concern." The older sister offered a small smile that was sure to be a bright moment in an otherwise dull watch shift.

"Aye, not a problem at all lass. It's been a trying time for us all these last few months. Now run along, the lot you."

"Yes Sir. Th-thank you, Sir." The trio said almost perfectly as one. A last wave saw them off, the watch sergeant's grind fading as he turned upon the next in line. "You, yes you! Papers out where I can see them."

He did not spare the three siblings another thought that day, or any other day after, but, if the sergeant had bothered to look back, he might have wondered upon the sudden change as the smiles vanished from the faces of the two girls, replaced by murderous looks that belong nowhere on the face of ones so young.

* * *

Crowds. Shiori had decided not long after her rebirth that she did not care much for crowds.

Part of that came from her past self, Shirotaka Akira, who had from a young age both shunned and been shunned by others. Crowds had never meant anything good growing up, except maybe anonymity as he went about his business. More often it was the feeling of being surrounded by people he didn't understand and had felt he had no hope of understanding.

The rest was almost certainly thanks to now being three half's three feral cats and another three half's three constantly angry and vengeful young women out for blood. In Shiori's limited prior experience, neither of those were things that dealt well with being surrounded by a sea of humanity, something that she experienced in full panorama through her three fields of vision, swirling around her until it was almost too much, even for three brains working as one.

It was a good thing that her human forms had dulled her senses, adding the shear intensity of sound and _smell_ might have pushed her over the edge. So many people, crammed so close together that it almost felt like fighting through the streets of Tokyo at rush house, only without the sanitation, hygiene, or tech shops that made doing so _barely_ tolerable.

Not for the first time, Shiori was thankful she hadn't made a rush for the city when she'd detonated the _Bounty_.

It hadn't been a mistake to bide her time in the countryside for a few days, posing as travelers, talking to the natives, and crafting a story and disguise that would left her blend in when she got to the city.

Now that she was in Albion, there was no need to dive right in, she could take a little time and plan. It had been a chance for her blood to cool and to get a handle on herself, more or less, at least enough that she'd been able to control the urge to cut down the watchmen when she'd thought for a moment she'd been made at the checkpoint, somehow.

Shiori's dagger self placed a hand to her forearm, squeezing, as the incident played out in her mind once more, and with it, memory of the burning desire to _pounce_ almost causing her arm to cramp as she resisted the call to lash out by instinct.

But she hadn't been caught, her disguises had held up to scrutiny with nobody the wiser. The danger had passed and the animal urges along with it.

At least, that was what Shiori told herself as she kept close together, each of herselves keeping watch in a separate direction as they traveled, mindful to keep at least one of her in sight at all times.

The truth was that the danger was still there, just less immediate, and therefore something less than real to her cat instincts, content to be silent so long as her hominid brains were doing all the hard work.

She could thank her time outside of Kingston for that too, namely, acquiring local clothes and travel documents, albeit by less than pleasant means. At least this crappy world now had one less band of petty murderers and rapists. If she'd been able to loot what she'd needed from their stash, so much the better.

Sword Shiori shifted uncomfortably, and not merely because of the sensation between his legs that after months had become unfamiliar and uncomfortable, albeit less than the loss of her balance aiding tails and highly directeable ears. Just as she was getting used to herselves the way they were, she'd had to go and make things _interesting _again. More or less.

No, Mahou Shiori snorted as she kept an eye on some suspicious looking thugs on her left side, it wasn't the fact that one of her had temporarily regained their lost manhood. Though, she did sometimes wonder if becoming female had somehow made her less squeamish.

It was hard to say one way or another, it wasn't like Akira had needed to fight and kill before coming to Halkegenia, and by the time she was gutting people alive in their sleep as Shiori, she had had pretty much rendered the question moot.

And really, she had more important things to wonder about than whether growing a vagina had made her less of a pussy.

It didn't stop her wondering about why it had felt so different this time. The killing that was. They'd _needed _to die, there were lots of good reasons. And if this kept up, it was going to be a problem when she got to the ones that _really_ needed to die.

She had plenty of experience pushing back the nightmares, and the uneasy feelings that had come from her first vigilante outing. It wasn't working so good this time. Probably because this time she hadn't just run across a bunch of murderers and dispensed justice in a cold blooded rage, or wiped out a ship full of sailors who were a real danger to her survival.

This time, for the first time, she'd gone out of her way to hunt her prey.

It hadn't been as hard as she had expected, listening to rumors as she shared her meager food with travelers and merchants, teasing out the details of what roads _not_ to travel by herselves.

Since Royalists had become an endangered species in Albion, Reconquista hadn't wasted any time in asserting control. Not that it was out of the goodness of their hearts, it was just hard to tax a country that was in the middle of killing itself. So Lord Cromwell and his general, who had found themselves the proud owners of a whole country, had gotten together and done something about it.

The army that had been built up from mercenary troops and Royalist defectors had been turned back on the countryside, rebuilding and manning the guard houses that had been destroyed or neglected during the war and patrolling the road ways for stragglers.

Orc war bands, who had been brought to Albion as expendable shock troops and then escaped their stockades to terrorize the countryside, had become more trouble than they were worth and had been hunted down and exterminated with extreme prejudice. The same had also gone for any of the mercenaries turned bandits who had been too brazen, no, that wasn't the word for it, Shiori thought, that had been too _stupid_ to stay below the radar.

The ones Shiori had tracked down hadn't been stupid, just the opposite. The highways were under constant patrol, but there were plenty of back roads and paths that weren't monitored, and enough travelers on those roads to make them attractive marks.

The bandits had the sense to hide from army patrols, it hadn't dawned on them that there were worse things they should be hiding from.

Shiori had found them in the night, following the smell of camp fires and the lights flickering in the forests, and then wiped them out to the last man with the same technique she'd used to dispatch the crew of the _Brimir's_ _Bounty_. She hadn't felt any need to hold back as memory of her first killing had bubbled up, these ones had been just as deserving of their fate as the bandits she'd stumbled upon in Tristain, as if the items she'd found with them hadn't been enough proof.

It was where she'd gotten the sword hanging on the belt of her presently male self, and the knives hidden on the person of her Dagger and Mahou selves, and it was where she'd gotten her hands on a travel letter, one of several that the bandits had relieved from their previous victims. It took a real force of will to keep three minds from lingering for too long on thoughts of their past owners.

The sword felt light and cheap, like some plastic knockoff, and the daggers weren't much better than toothpicks. She'd have preferred her Faerie equipment if it wouldn't have been a fat giveaway in the hands of a trio of 'peasant siblings'. But if she was going to do this, she had to keep a low profile, anything else was too risky while she was creeping around under the noses of an entire city full of guards and soldiers.

Unseen Moon and Nidhoggr's Fangs could all but slash through and pierce native armor, and what they could do to flesh was better left unsaid. Unless she needed to drop a orc in one clean strike, they were gross overkill for the kind of work she planned to be doing here, and try as she might, she couldn't think of any scenario needing them where they would make much of a difference.

That had settled the matter for her. She'd never been a very nostalgic person in this or any other world. So her gear had been left behind outside of Kingston, tucked away in a safe hiding place she could return to later, and Shiori had made her way into Kingston, authentically armed and disguised, with the papers she would need to travel more or less freely while she did her initial reconnaissance and snooping around.

Despite the ugly feeling that lingered with her, she was eager to get started. Maybe results would wash the bad taste out of her mouth.

There was a market square not far from the outer gates, a wide open space, at least, wide open by local standards. People were congregating, browsing the stalls, buying, selling, and most of all, talking. Boring personal stuff mostly, but there was bound to be gossip, and if there was one things Shiori did actually understand about people, it was that they couldn't keep their mouth's shut to save there lives.

It was as good a place to start as any, besides, her stomachs growled, starting in the belly of Sword Shiori and then extending sympathetically to her Dagger and Mahou bodies, her sense of smell might have been dulled but she was sure she was scenting fresh meat. She could at least put her ill gotten gains to good use.

* * *

Author's Note:

I debated whether or not to post this, and then decided that one way or another I had to get it out of my head.

So after all the effort that went into Shiori, both by myself and their creator Gamlain, I've gotten a few comments about the character and in the end this kind of cropped up as my thoughts about Shiori and the person beneath began to take shape. Hopefully it doesn't come off sounding too bizarre (says the person writing a story full of mass spiritings away, gender bending, and shape shifting . . .) Or too much like I'm stroking my own philosophical ego.

As a reminder, I'm speculating as much as anyone, I didn't create the Shiori, I just got permission to use them and bounce ideas off their creator. I've certainly evolved them since the first drafts, but the underlying inspiration is all Gamlain.

An ongoing theme in HaLO has been masks and disguises, both literal and figurative. Literally in the transformation of the players into Faeries, thousands of people have assumed faces and bodies that were not the ones they were born with, and figuratively in the changes that they have undergone emotionally and mentally to survive.

Over the course of the narrative, many characters have easily slipped in and out of facades and deceptions ranging from Louise playing the part of a servant girl to Kirito's shenanigans as Midori. Both of which, rather ironically, revealed truths through their deception. Louise learned of the plight of the commoners and Guiche was called out for his philandering.

Sometimes the mask has also worked in reverse, transforming the person underneath. This is evident in a positive light in characters like Sakuya, Mortimer, Eugene, and Morgiana, assuming strong outward personas as commanders, leaders, and warriors. These changes have sometimes been hard on them, but overall they have been affected positively by their choice to project a strong facade to the world.

It is also expressed negatively in the form of characters like Ephi, a man so consumed with self loathing for his 'real' self that he has even begun to dissociate from his past identity, choosing to become a villain and risk death rather than allow the remotest chance of being reduced to his past self.

Someplace between these two extremes sits Shiori.

To steal from another of Kowahara's works, Shiori is a reflection of her creator's (Shirotaka Akira) true self, his fetishes, hopes, fears, and insecurities.

One comment that was offered on several occasions was the suggestion that Akira might have been a lolicon fetishist due to the appearance he gave Shiori and his noted fascination with gymnasts. It made me think about appearances in general, and specifically how Shiori was created as a front for Akira and what that appearances might mean.

Akira was fifteen years old as a human, I'm just going to go out on a limb and guess fifteen year old girls were probably high on his list of interests. Shiori is modeled on a fifteen year old girl within a standard deviation of height, bust, and weight, and barring Suguha, most of SAO's female characters in that demographic are not winning prizes in a sweater filling competition, at least not by anime standards.

So lets look as Akira for a second, pulling from the comments made by Gamlain. A young, frail, and socially inept shut in hacker and victim of bullying, suffering from severe monomania and possibly depression, whose only positive social connection has been with his sister.

This already paints a pretty vivid picture of his feelings and resentments. Not only that, he shows no sign of associating his gender positively with strength. Rather than strong masculine role 'self sacrificing, confident, honorable', he holds a very weak masculine image 'self serving, abusive, spiteful' due to the abuse he has suffered and his own failure to do anything about it.

Akira's failure to 'protect' his Sister from SAO, in essence to be her 'Knight in Shinning Armor' was pretty much his last chance at salvaging any worth in his masculinity and his failure to protect himself from his own bullies could be seen as failures to live up to the masculine role society expected of him. So Akira grew to resent his masculinity while still holding femininity in high regard due to his sister.

In that regard and at risk of sounding really creepy, Shiori probably was a very sexual creation to an inexperienced kid like Akira and might have been the occasional target of his fantasies, though for reasons decidedly other than Lolicon. He tried to create what he thought of as a very empowered form, it just so happened that this lead him to think of women rather than men.

Take a look at the body of a female gymnast sometime (objectively please).

Uniformly small breasts and hips and a short stature, often under five feet for those who are still young, which might be considered part of lolicon fetishism by emphasizing a small and pubescent body type, but the other aspects of that sort of physique are in pretty massive opposition to the ideas of female weakness, purity, and fragility that are at the heart of lolicon.

A gymnast after all is an extremely well conditioned athlete with very well defined physique that would in no way suggest weakness. In fact, Shiori, despite her stature, emphasizes a very physically empowered form, shed of everything unnecessary. That sort of strength engendered in a form that others would expect to be weak would appeal to a kid like Akira on a lot of different levels and that aspect is only enhanced by his new instincts and powers.

On several occasions, Akira has seemingly reveled in his capabilities, possibly because they are abilities that he had no hope of acquiring in real life, either due to lack of confidence or simple physical inability. We know from the fact that he managed to develop a work around to multibox in full dive that he must have a personality that verges on monomaniacally focused, so it's doubtful that it was just lack of motivation.

But perhaps mentioning all of this is irrelevant because we know for one simple reason that Shiori was not primarily a voyeuristic endeavor and that is the fact that in playing a VRMMO Akira was becoming Shiori rather than simply drooling over her asses on a screen.

Not only that, he went to great lengths to suppress his own masculinity still further while playing Shiori. Rather than simply making a trap male avatar (Look at Kuro in the girl ops manga for a reversed example) Akira actually went to the trouble of digging up and fixing SAO era legacy code so that he could experience ALO as if he were really a woman. If Shiori was simple fetish fuel for a typical male player then having a vagina and female anatomical responses to arousal would probably dampen any sexual gratification very quickly.

I'm left to think that maybe Shiori was less a sexual fetish for Akira and more an emotional surrogate. Though not suffering from gender dissociation, Akira did have many problems with his gender and no strong connection to it such that he began to believe his failings were because he wasn't a _girl_.

And now he is one . . . well three . . . preternaturally strong, swift, and angry young women with magical powers as her disposal and a vicious desire to prove that she can take a stand now to protect the things she cares about. I pity anyone who gets in her way.


End file.
